


The Boy Who Lived And The Beast

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Unhappy) Auror Potter, Beauty and the Beast, Draco redeeming himself, Fairy Tale Retellings, Horribly fluffy ending (I apologize), M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: “Learn to love someone wizout your prejudices, and ‘ave zat person love you for who you really are, before ze last petal of ze rose ‘as fallen, or you will forever embody everyzing you ‘ate.”
Draco has found himself in a bit of a predicament. Who would be better suited to save him from it than the Boy Who Lived?- This story is based on the Disney Version of "Beauty and the Beast" -





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic in this fandom. I am both excited and nervous X'D Please be kind to me. 
> 
> The idea for this story came to me during one of the (too) many times I rewatched my favorite Disney movie. When the line "The Prince was spoiled, selfish and unkind," came up, I couldn't help but imagine Draco, and I knew that I needed to rewrite the story with a Draco twist. I am aware that others have probably written adaptions of this fairy tale starring the two of them, but this is my version of Draco in the role of the Beast and Harry in the role of Belle. All similarities with other fanfics are coincidental and not intended. All similarities with the Disney movie are very intentional. 
> 
> Special thanks are going to my little sister, who beta-read for me and held my hand throughout the months it took writing this fic, and to my orange bird friend who corrected my cliché French accent and all other French aspects of this fic and showered me with enthusiasm. I love you both!

Minnie had been working for the Malfoy family for as long as she could remember, dating back to a couple of years before the Dark Lord fell for the first time. The Malfoy Manor had never been an entirely pleasant place to work at, but she had been taught to respect her Masters no matter her treatment, and she knew she was lucky to have a family to work for and a house to look after. She could have had it much worse - she had seen the way Mistress Bellatrix had hung her house-elves by their ears from the chandelier if they as much as dared to forget putting milk into her tea. Of course, she feared Master Lucius almost as much as she feared his sister-in-law, but as her tasks had always been more tailored to the needs of his wife and the young Master Malfoy, she rarely crossed paths with him. 

She could remember the day Draco Malfoy had been born with stunning clarity. It had been a warm night at the beginning of June, the first feelers of a long summer stretching out despite the hopelessness of the First Wizarding War. The Malfoy Manor had been a scary place to spend one’s days at, for house-elves as well as for wizards and every other living creature, but on that single night, the tension seemed to have lifted. She could still remember the tender smile on Mistress Narcissa’s face as she had lain eyes on her baby boy for the first time, and a brightness in Master Lucius’ eyes that she had never seen again, something almost like affection. 

She remembered that she had been the one to put the small Master Draco to bed that night, and that he had grabbed for Minnie’s finger and held on, unaware of the invisible wall of status between them. She had looked into his half-lidded eyes, still a dark blue and not quite the grey color that framed his pupils nowadays, and had felt an unexpected spark of hope. If there was still pure, untainted beauty like this in the world, she had thought, maybe things were going to turn for the better, after all. 

The dark days of the Dark Lord’s first reign were followed by the dark days of the Malfoy Family’s prosecution, but they had flown over the young Master Draco almost like a passing storm in the unawareness of his early childhood. He had been a lively child, always smiling and laughing under the fond eyes of his troubled mother. Sometimes, especially during the period of the Second Wizarding War, Minnie wished that Master Draco had never lost that liveliness. It had been like a warm breeze throughout ruthless frozen nights. 

But Master Malfoy was as stern a father as he was a Master. Oh, let it not be said that the young Master Draco had not been well cared for - his father had given him everything he had wished for: Dragon figurines that were spelled to spew little, tickling waves of non-harmful fire and that had made the little boy giggle in delight; racing brooms that had made Minnie’s uncle Hinky fall down the set of stairs in the west wing in shock when the young Master had unexpectedly turned around a corner; or so many chocolate frogs that his mother had continuously stumbled over him in his attempts to chase after them. Just a word from Master Draco, and his father had made it happen. If it was Lucius Malfoy’s form of affection or a way of showing his power and wealth, Minnie had never quite understood, but it was not her place to judge. Though as generous as Master Malfoy was when it came to giving his son presents, the stricter he was when it came to his education. Master Draco had not as much as uttered his first word before he had been given into the care of a private teacher, being educated in foreign languages and magical theories alike. Only when it came to the moral parts of his education, Master Lucius would take over himself, ensuring that his heir would turn out as a most convincing copy of himself. 

If his son had behaved in any way that displeased him, though, the punishment following his mistakes had been cruel. This was the part that had pained Minnie the most - the tears, the hiding under the covers of his four-poster bed, and the muffled, heart-wrenching sobs filtering through them. A few times, Minnie had taken the liberty of slipping in a few of Master Draco’s favorite cupcakes against Master Lucius’ orders, only to end up ironing her fingers in the morning. 

She had been watching, as the years had passed, how the young boy’s smiles had grown fewer the older he got, and then, when he had gotten older still, how they had changed in quality: gone was the delightful innocence, replaced by a calculating smugness that resembled his father more than Minnie was comfortable with. Still, Minnie had never lost her soft spot for the young Master, not during a childhood spent mostly alone in the huge manor among house-elves and private teachers, not during those long terms at Hogwarts, and not even during his short weeks of return for the holidays, when most he would do was rant about his fellow students and above all the famous Harry Potter. Having Master Draco in the house had always been better than the alternative.

And then, the Dark Lord had risen a second time. Minnie could not have imagined darker days than those of the first period of war, but seeing Master Draco’s cheeks hollowed out and his eyes emptied by bottomless fear for long months stretching out to years was the biggest horror she had felt in her entire life, and to this day, she had not once forgotten the screams that had rung through the walls whenever the young Master had been punished. She had cried in relief when she had heard of the Dark Lord’s final death, so hard that the dirty towel she had been wearing was soaked by tears. 

The days following the conclusion of this second war were not easy, either, Minnie had to admit as much, but the Malfoy Family had gone through trials and loss of reputation before, and she was confident that they would gain their status back in no time. After all, Minnie was working for one of the proudest families in the whole Wizarding Europe, and one could only cut down Black Gold this much - it would always stand back as straight as ever in no time whatsoever.

  


And this is where our story begins.

  


The house-elves had been buzzing with activity from the moment Mistress Narcissa had announced that they would be expecting visitors. It had been months since the Manor had hosted anyone not sent by the Ministry in charge of prosecution of war crimes or war reparations, and the orders to polish up the place and air out the guest bedding shot a wave of excitement through the household. 

Mistress Narcissa did not relay any information to the servants, of course, but the house-elves had their own information network, and soon everyone knew who the estimated guests would be, and for what purpose they would be staying.

The Malfoy Family’s relations to the French Wizarding Society had been strong ever since the Malfoy Family had settled in Britain to begin with, but had weakened slightly with the bad press the post-war period had brought with it. One of the few remaining allies were the D'Isigny Clan, a wealthy pureblood family settled in the Normandy, who not only possessed large assets all through Europe but also had their hands in quite a few countries’ Ministries. 

They also had a young, wealthy heiress only a year younger than Master Draco himself, a fresh graduate from Beauxbatons Academy. 

When Minnie had heard, she had let a plate drop in shock. Of course, there had been talk of arranging a proper match for Master Draco practically since his birth, but she had always trusted Mistress Narcissa to give her son the freedom of choosing his own wife. 

Of course, Minnie had to admit, as she repeatedly banged her head against the kitchen cupboard, that she had known how this part could potentially be complicated, for she had been the one to clean up the more incriminating evidences of Master Draco’s… inclinations. From unfinished letters to his true object of affections, in which words seemed to fail her usually so linguistically refined Master, to newspaper clippings balled up and thrown into the dustbin, only to later be recovered and flattened carefully… Minnie knew, despite never having been told, that the last thing Master Draco wanted was to take a wife. Or any woman, for that matter. 

Minnie was still despairing over her inexpertly acquired knowledge when she helped an oblivious Master Draco get ready for the welcoming of his parents’ guests. She wanted to warn her Master, and felt like she owed it to him, to a certain degree, but neither was she supposed to know why the D'Isigny’s had been invited to Wiltshire, nor why taking a wife might be uncomfortable for the Malfoy heir. Neither, though, had she ever been good at hiding her discomfort, which was exactly why Master Draco halted in the movements of adjusting his dress robes to study the house-elf through the mirror.

“Minnie,” he said sharply, making her jump. “There is something you’re not telling me.”

Minnie pressed her lips shut tightly, breath quickening. She fumbled nervously with the discarded dress shirt in her hand until Master Draco turned around and tore it from her hands, effectively making her look at him. She cowered a little at the sight of his stare, his grey eyes hard as steel, so much like his father’s if he wanted them to be.

“Minnie,” he said quietly, determinedly. “I order you to tell me what you know.”

  


Minnie had practically raised him, and if Draco was honest with himself, which he would rather not be, especially with a Legilimens of a father nearby, he had more of an emotional attachment to the elf than he had ever had to most of his classmates at Hogwarts. But considering the amount of time he had spent in company of this very house-elf, if anything, he could read her every nervous twitch, and every guilty glance, and today was no different.

Minnie had made herself strangely scarce for days, but Draco had been too preoccupied to give her behaviour much thought. Now, though, the alarm bells in his head began to ring, and looking at Minnie desperately clenching her hands to fists, he cursed himself for not picking up the signs before now. 

“Minnie,” he repeated warningly, watching her lips tremble and her resolve crack.

“Master Draco,” she whispered. “Minnie should not be knowing. Minnie mustn't be telling. If Master Lucius is ever finding out-”

“Let Father be my worry,” Draco said quickly, making sure to keep his eyes locked to the huge dark green ones of the elf, despite the fact that their coloring reminded him so much of someone else’s eyes. Someone he would _definitely_ not allow his mind to travel to now . “Tell me what you know. Now.”

He saw Minnie let out a shaky breath, and finally, she hissed: “There is a plot, Master Draco. Master Lucius is _plotting_.”

“We hate when he does that,” Draco agreed, gulping. “What is he up to now? He hasn’t found a new murderous megalomaniac to follow, now has he?”

“No,” Minnie shook her head, shuddering at the idea alone. “No. It’s about Master Draco.”

Draco’s heart fell. Oh no.

“Master Draco is to marry the young Miss D'Isigny. Master Lucius is thinking it will raise the Malfoy Family’s status.”

“Of course he does,” Draco groaned, finally straightening up and running a hand through his perfectly styled hair in frustration, messing it up again. “That slimy bastard,” he murmured feebly, seeing Minnie twitch out of the corner of his eyes. “I thought… _after_ _everything that happened…”_

He was interrupted in his murmured curses by a quiet ‘plop’, announcing the arrival of another house-elf.

“Master Draco,” Wompie squeaked. “The guests has arrived. Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa is expecting you in the parlour.”

“Yeah, I bet they are,” Draco groaned, defiantly sitting down on his bed. He saw Wompie and Minnie exchange an uneasy look. 

“Is Master feeling unwell?,” Wompie asked hesitantly. 

Draco looked up just in time to see Minnie silently pleading with him. He grimaced. Him and his unhealthy partiality to this little green-eyed creature. 

“Master is feeling fine,” he ground out with difficulty, getting to his feet. “Master will go down immediately.”

With some relief, Wompie bowed and disappeared with another ‘plop’.

“... like the fine little pet boy Master is,” he added under his breath, and Minnie locked her eyes on him nervously. 

“Master is going to be causing a scene, isn’t he?,” she said quietly, an eerie resignation in her voice. “Like Master did when he refused to be lying in front of the Wizengamot two months ago, and then Minnie will be having to stick her feet into cooking water again.”

“You will do no such thing!,” Draco said angrily, suppressing a shudder at the ridiculous self-punishment those elves always came up with. “You will stay out of it and let me handle it! I forbid you to hurt yourself, Minnie!”

“Yes, Master” Minnie said miserably and with a final ‘plop’, she left him alone. 

Draco took a deep breath, his eyes wandering to his own reflection in the mirror. His light blond hair had grown back enough to cover his ears now, much to the despair of his mother, but Draco preferred it that way, and he had told himself the moment he had stepped out of his trial with a pardon that he would not let his parents dictate his life any longer. His hairstyle was a small form of rebellion, but it was a start, and Draco was strangely proud of it. 

“No more power plays,” he told his reflection, seeing his own frown. “You promised.”

“ _Fix your hair, brat!,”_ was all the mirror returned in a squeaky voice, and Draco just glowered at it before turning his back on it, decidedly _not_ fixing anything. Instead, he took quick steps towards the door, yanking it open with a little too much force and making his way downstairs towards the first-floor parlour. 

The D'Isigny’s were already present when he arrived. Mr. D'Isigny was a short, rather plump kind of man, dark, flattened hair greying in the light of the chandelier. His wife was almost an inch taller than him, and her white robes, elegantly embroidered with golden designs, stood out starkly against her dark skin. 

Only for a moment, Draco allowed his eyes to settle on the daughter. Rose D'Isigny was an elegant creature, there was no doubt about that. Having inherited the good looks of her mother, she would have stood out in any room: rose-colored fabric against a stunning teint, silky long hair pulled up in an elegant knot, held together by what looked like a real rose turned into an accessory. Her onyx eyes met his, and he could tell that he was mustered with equal calculation. His lips twitched as he bit down on a bitter smile. It was obvious that they had grown up in similar surroundings; they were both so used to splendor that they were unlikely to be impressed by it.

His thought process was interrupted by the resounding tone of Mr. D'Isigny’s voice. 

“Mais c'est le jeune Monsieur Malfoy!,” he hollered, a pleased smile spreading over his round face. “What a pleasure! It ‘as been so long!”

“Monsieur D'Isigny,” Draco nodded politely, his good upbringing forcing him to swallow his temper for a moment to hold up at least a semblance of appearance. “Madame. Mademoiselle.”

“A ‘andsome boy you ‘ave, Narcissa,” Mrs. D'Isigny said appreciatively, smiling at his mother. “‘e looks so much like ‘is fazer.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. He might have taken these words as a compliment, once upon a time, but he did not anymore. 

“I do not wish to be rude,” Draco ground out, struggling to keep his voice even and pleasant. “But I need a quick private word with my parents. If you would excuse us for just a moment.”

With a tiny bow, he glanced at his parents. His mother was frowning, studying his face in open interest. His father, quite unsurprisingly, looked livid.

“Mother, Father,” he pressed on, his lips forming a thin, angry line. “In the corridor, if you would.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heels, practically fleeing the room. He only had a couple of seconds to steel himself in the shadows of the corridor, reminding himself that his father’s anger did not scare him anymore, before he was joined by his parents, his mother gently closing the door behind herself. 

“What in Salazar’s name has gotten-,” his father began, clearly struggling to keep his voice down, but Draco cut him short.

“I am not marrying her,” he said firmly, narrowing his eyes and staring his parents down with as much authority as he could muster up. 

There was a stunned silence. His father seemed to have stopped breathing - if in shock or in anger, Draco was unsure. His mother was studying him still with the same expression of bewildered interest. It looked like she had been presented with a particularly intriguing puzzle.

“You listen to me,” his father began, obviously having regained his composure, but Draco was resolutely set on not letting him gain momentum. 

“I don’t care that you are desperate to regain standing in society,” Draco said flatly. “I don’t care that your only way to bring yourself back into the limelight is by playing me like a piece of chess. I am done being a mean in Lucius Malfoy’s great scheme. I am 18 years old, and I am going to make my own decisions from now on. Which means I am going to choose my own partner in marriage.”

“You are a Malfoy, and you are going to behave like one, you ungrateful child!,” His father spat, his skin flushed with anger. “Your mother and I gave everything for you, and this is how you-”

Draco couldn’t help it; he laughed. His voice sounded maniac even to his own ears. 

“When did you _ever_ risk anything for my sake, unless you could turn it into some propaganda act for the Malfoy name?!,” Draco challenged. 

“Draco,” His mother injected softly, eyes blazing. “Just calm down and give it a chance. The D'Isigny’s are a well-respected family, and we thought it would be in your interest-”

“I don’t care who her family is!,” Draco protested, his voice rising. “I don’t care if she is on first-name-base with the French Minister, or if you’ve set up a contract that will buy you a seat in the Wizengamot if you sell me out! Let’s be real; you only chose her because there was no one better available anyways! Or else you would never suggest a woman with skin and hair so dark that it will taint all the Malfoy heirs for generations to come!”

The words were barely out before there was an explosion of noise, and Draco’s mother had just enough time to push both herself and her husband out of the way before the doorwas blasted out of its frame and hit the opposite wall with a loud ‘bang’. 

Everything was silent for a moment, and Draco and his parents gaped as Mrs. D'Isigny stepped out of the parlour, her face livid and her eyes dancing in a way that made Draco take a step back.

“ _What_ did you just say about MY DAUGHTER?!,” she demanded, her voice seeming to bounce off the stone walls and magnify in Draco’s ears.

Draco opened his mouth to protest, or maybe to apologize, but she did not give him the chance.

“You arrogant child!,” she spat, crossing the distance to him in slow, menacing steps. “Think you are so pretty and smart and too good for us? Your ‘eart is cold and ‘ard as stone, and you know nozing, boy, nozing about life and love. It’s time someone showed you zat, since a war and ze loss of your reputation seems to not ‘ave been enough!”

Draco flinched when a long, pale wand was pointed at his face. Her words sounded like screeches of a badly-tuned violin, and he could not make out a language he knew. It wasn’t French. 

And then, it felt like his skin had been set on fire. 

He screamed, scratching at his face, but he could feel the skin moving under his fingers. It broke out in blisters and rash, and then he saw hair growing on his hands and arms, covering him like a carpet of fur. 

“Learn to love someone wizout your prejudices, and ‘ave zat person love you for who you really are, before ze last petal of ze rose ‘as fallen, or you will forever embody everyzing you ‘ate.”

Draco eyes focused long enough to take note of the dark red rose, not unlike the one in her daughter’s hair, floating in front of his face.

His legs gave out. The last thing he heard was the despaired scream of his mother before the world fell away into darkness. 

  


“Harry!,” Ron groaned, bringing his hand down on the file Harry had been reading with a loud ‘bang’. Harry looked up into the annoyed face of his best friend with a start, a guilty feeling spreading through his chest as he realized that he had spaced out enough to miss Ron entering his office, as well as his attempts to get his attention. 

“Hi,” Harry said weakly, smiling in embarassment. 

Ron glared half-heartedly and threw a look at the file Harry had been reading, his eyebrows raising. His face hardened again when he met Harry’s eyes once more.

“Malfoy again?”

Harry fought the urge to snap at him. They were not even going to Hogwarts with his ex-nemesis anymore, and still he had been the topic of their little banters so often these days that Harry felt like he was back in sixth year. 

“It’s my _job_ , Ron,” he said tightly, and with what he felt was great restraint. “Do you expect me to ignore it just because Malfoy happens to be involved?”

“No, but I expect you to not ignore your other tasks _just because Malfoy happens to be involved,_ ” Ron pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Robards keeps buggering me about that bloody report on the inspection of ‘Borgin and Burkes’, and I keep having to delay him because you haven’t even bloody looked at it!” 

“I looked at it,” Harry said defensively. “I made some notes, too.”

“Notes?!,” Ron scoffed. “Harry, it’s been three days!”

“I know,” Harry groaned in frustration. “You know I hate all that paperwork, Ron!”

“I _know_ , mate,” Ron sighed, his face softening a little. “I know you’re not much of a bureaucrat. By Godric, neither am I. But you know how everyone in the Ministry is still watching us with eagle’s eyes because we were employed as Aurors straight from the battlefield, without even having passed our NEWTS. Let’s not give them any reason to kick us out, shall we?”

“Yes,” Harry said heavily, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face with one hand. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’ll look at the report right away, and you’ll have it back before lunch.”

“Thank you,” Ron said, smiling in relief. “If I’m not in my office, put it on my desk - I’m sort of on call for that potion smuggle case…”

“Got it,” Harry nodded, spinning around in his chair to open his drawer and fish out the report. 

“And don’t get distracted by your Malfoy-obsession again,” Ron snickered.

“I am _not_ obsessed!,” Harry groaned, his eyes narrowing on Ron’s grin. “He just _disappeared_!,” Harry burst out angrily. “He was filed as a witness for ongoing trials, and he is still on probation, and then he just drops off the surface of earth?! Doesn’t it bother you?!”

“According to Lucius Malfoy, he is in France, arranging his own wedding,” Ron shrugged. 

“That’s the thing, though - I checked with the D'Isigny’s, and according to them, the wedding is off. They claim to not have seen him since they left Britain. But Lucius Malfoy keeps to his story about him being there to arrange the betrothal. It doesn’t make any sense, though! If he were trying to win Rose D'Isigny over, wouldn’t he have at least _owled_ her?!”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Ron said impatiently. “Maybe he found someone else to woo, or maybe he is kicking it in Paris. I don’t care. Forget about him. He is too much of a wuss to be of any danger to anyone.”

“But what if-,” Harry began, only to have Ron cut him off.

“The report, Harry. Until lunch time. I’m waiting.”

Harry grumbled and sifted through the papers in his desk drawer moodily. He didn’t look at Ron as he let himself out.

Harry had never really thought much about what would happen to him after he defeated Lord Voldemort. He had been too busy trying not to die to think about a future that might not even be in store for him. Of course, there had been loose ideas, like becoming an Auror or marrying Ginny. But none of that had really worked out the way he had wanted, he had to admit as his fingers finally closed on the labeled report he had found on his desk at the beginning of the week. He slammed it onto the table, covering Malfoy’s file with it.

Becoming an Auror had always sounded so good to him, when he had been stuck at school and everyone had tried to keep him away from the really interesting stuff happening out there. Now that he was one, though, he began to regret never having looked into other career paths, or turning down Professor McGonagall’s offer about returning for his NEWTS-year. Not only was the job 60% paperwork, but the other 40% were also mainly taken up by hierarchic fights both inside the Auror department, and with other involved departments. The Ministry seemed as organized as the Burrow’s gnome-infested garden now that he was part of it, and while Kingsley, as the new Minister, tried his best to get a grip of the chaos, he could not be everywhere at once. The amount of time Harry actually spent out there doing something worthwhile was so minimal that he almost felt like he was back in Hogwarts, isolated from the war raging outside. 

Also, there was something else, something Harry had been reluctant to admit to Ron or even himself. It was the fact that, even if he was out there, doing something, he felt nothing like the satisfaction he had expected to feel. Instead, he was unable to sleep for the nights that followed, or woke up to terrible nightmares. 

Maybe he should have anticipated this development. He certainly remembered how Hermione had looked at him when he had turned down McGonagall’s offer, worriedly asking if he really wanted to fight dark wizards forever. 

“You are finally free, Harry,” she had said gently, her fingers squeezing around his arm. “No one expects you to keep fighting. You are allowed to take a break.”

He had laughed at her, telling her that this was what he _wanted_ to do. And in a way, it was. He couldn’t imagine sitting in Hogwarts, studying in the halls where his friends had died, while some of their murderers were still out there somewhere, escaping their punishment. 

He had not expected it to be this straining, though. In many ways, it felt like the war had never ended - like he was caught in this ongoing nightmare, expecting a Death Eater to come around the corner any moment and fire off killing curses. It was driving him up the walls, and out of bed at night. 

There was no satisfaction in the work he was doing now. Most of the time, he felt like he was not doing _anything_ , and when he was, it all just served to remind him of what was still wrong with the Wizarding World.

The only time he had tried to voice some of these feelings had been with Ginny, though, before they had decided to go separate ways. It had been a last, desperate attempt to salvage their relationship, in the few weeks of the Christmas holidays where they had finally seen each other more than just a couple of hours in Hogsmeade, but he should have known that it would be no use. Harry had never been especially good at voicing his feelings - usually he kept things bottled up until he exploded. Ginny, though, had wanted more from him. She had kept pushing, asking him to explain what was bothering him, and worse, asking him to talk about the war. He could understand some of it, of course; after all, he had excluded her from his life for almost a whole year, even if it had been for her own protection. He could see why she had wanted to be included now. She had simply wanted to feel that he needed her.

The thing was, though, that he was not sure if it was _her_ he needed. To be quite honest, he didn’t have the slightest clue _what_ he needed. Things were finally going his way, weren’t they? He could be with the girl he liked, do the job he wanted, all without Voldemort being out there trying to kill him or his friends off. Everything should have been perfect.

But still, nothing was perfect, not even close, and he couldn’t explain why, and it left him frustrated like never before. 

He picked up a quill, trying to concentrate on the report in front of him, but his eyes caught on the corner of the photo pinned to the file underneath. Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed as they seemed to meet his for a moment, their expression almost searching. He felt the familiar restlessness that he connected with Malfoy irk up in his stomach again. 

He wanted to know where Malfoy was. He had not testified in his favor at his family’s trial for the git to just run off without notice when he was needed to get Death Eaters into their well-deserved Azkaban cells. 

His eyes fixed on Malfoy’s again, and his fist tightened on the quill in his hand. Something was not right. He might have never trusted Draco Malfoy, but he had seemed sincere in his cooperation with the Ministry, and in his remorse. Unlike his father, who was clearly just in it to save his own skin, Draco had actually seemed to have an honest interest in the prosecution of Death Eater crimes, and had offered a lot of helpful information to them, much more than he would have ever expected him to, and all of it voluntarily and without prodding. Harry had assumed that the time he had spent living under one roof with the Darkest Wizard of all times had finally made him see the benefits of the light side. 

So his sudden disappearance made no sense to Harry. Ron might just accept it as Malfoy being a selfish coward who had run from his responsibilities, but Harry couldn’t shake off the feeling that he hadn’t left voluntarily. That his father was behind it somehow, trying to reign in his wayward son. 

Harry groaned in frustration, dropping the quill and running his hand through his hair instead, tousling it up even more than than it already was. Why did he care so much about what was happening to Malfoy?! He was a git. He should be glad that he had apparently finally left the country to settle down on the continent, far away from him and his friends.

And yet. 

  


“Mr. Potter,” Lucius Malfoy drawled, his lips curling as he entered his own drawing room to find Harry sitting in one of the armchairs, the tea on the table in front of him untouched. “What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for the Savior of the Wizarding World?”

“How about you finally tell me where your son is?,” Harry said coldly, his sharp eyes settling on Lucius’. 

“Now, now, he is in France, as you are very well aware,” Lucius said with a fake pleasantness in his voice, sitting down in his throne-like chair opposite of Harry. “I already reported to the Ministry two times on that matter. I am not sure what you want from me.”

“I talked to the D'Isigny’s,” Harry informed him, watching a flash in Lucius eyes, but before he could interpret it, it was gone. “They told me the wedding is off, and that they haven’t seen Draco since they left Wiltshire.” 

“It’s true, the arrangement we had with the D'Isigny family failed, for one reason or another,” Lucius shrugged, seemingly unaffected. “We are currently in negotiations with another family in France. Draco was so kind to take his betrothal into his own hands.”

“And how is the name of that new family?,” Harry asked, knowing very well that there was none, even if Lucius did his best to pretend otherwise.

“I am afraid I cannot tell you that until it’s finalized. It might disrupt the negotiations.”

“Stop playing this game with me, Malfoy!,” Harry snapped, his temper rising. “I have no time for this! There are trials your son agreed to testify in-”

“Maybe he changed his mind,” Lucius said with a swift smile.

“If he did, he would have notified me!” 

“Yes, because I distinctly remember you being close friends since your schooldays.”

Harry slammed his flat palm onto the table. His tea spilled over, but Lucius Malfoy did not even flinch.

“You’re forgetting your position!,” Harry said sharply. “I’m an Auror, and you are under house arrest for the foreseeable future. You’d better cooperate with me in this, or I might have to speak with my colleagues.”

“It’s my son that’s missing, and not me,” Lucius said innocently, his eyes widening. “I doubt that any of this will affect my position. Unless you are suspecting that I am keeping him locked up in my dungeons, in which case I invite you to search them.”

“If he’s not here, where _is_ he?!,” Harry growled. “And don’t give me that bullshit about France!”

“I’m afraid if you don’t reign in your temper, Mr. Potter, I will have to file in a complaint against you with your department,” Lucius said, his voice now almost sweet in obvious pleasure. “As I understand, you already have quite a reputation within the Ministry.”

“Are you threatening me?!,” Harry demanded.

“No,” Lucius said softly, an edge of danger flowing with his words. “I am just making you aware of my rights. Which include, as far as I remember, to have you removed from my house if you cannot show a search warrant.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. His hands tightened into fists, and slowly, he got to his feet.

“Don’t think this is over,” Harry warned. “I’ll find him. And if it turns out you had anything to do with his disappearance, you will go straight to Azkaban with all your Death Eater buddies.”

“Good that I don’t have anything to do with it, then,” Lucius said simply. 

  


“I’m telling you, he still thinks he can play games with the Ministry!,” Harry ranted, slicing a potato moodily with his fork. 

“He is a Malfoy, Harry,” Ron noted, momentarily resurfacing from his mountain of chicken. “That’s what they do. They play games. Why are you even surprised?”

Harry ignored him and caught Hermione’s gaze. Hermione was the only person who had shown at least a spark of interest in Draco Malfoy’s disappearance ever since she had returned from Hogwarts after finishing her NEWTS. She didn’t officially live in the little apartment Harry and Ron had rented in North Kensington after they had started their jobs, but she was there more often than not these days, and Harry was not so secretly glad for it. If not for her clear-headed opinions, Harry would have already strangled Ron two weeks ago.

“So he’s still claiming that Draco is in France?,” she asked, sipping thoughtfully at her glass of water. 

“Yes!,” Harry called indignantly. “And he refuses to give out any details, claiming it would upset Draco’s marriage negotiations or some nonsense!”

“I think you have to be careful, Harry,” Hermione said slowly, biting her lip. “If Lucius Malfoy is trying so hard to cover up his son’s whereabouts, something is going on, and I doubt you will find out anything if you run your head against a wall.”

“But how _am_ I going to find anything out, then?!,” he asked, frustrated. “I don’t have a single clue, apart from that dead-end D'Isigny-Malfoy marriage disaster.”

“Actually, I did some research,” Hermione said quickly, getting up from her chair and crossing the room. She came back only a few moments later with a book and some parchments. “I read up on everything that was written about the Malfoy Family in _‘Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy’_ , and found that it listed all the estates that the family ever possessed. I compared it with the report Lucius Malfoy had to give about his assets during his trial, and I found some irregularities.”

“Irregularities?,” Harry prompted, hanging at her lips.

“There are two estates in the book that were not in Lucius’ report,” Hermione explained. “One was a manor in Lancashire, and as far as I found out, it was destroyed during an attack in the war. And then there was what seemed to have been a rather large estate in Cornwall, which I cannot find anything about.”

“You mean it’s gone?,” Harry asked.

“According to Lucius Malfoy, he doesn’t own it anymore, but I cannot find what happened to it,” Hermione sighed. “There are no records of it having been sold, or of it having been destroyed. It just… disappeared.”

“Interesting,” Harry murmured, pulling Hermione’s notes across the table to have a look. 

“Maybe you are right, and Lucius is really hiding Draco somewhere,” Hermione continued, her bright eyes focusing on Harry. “And where to better hide him than in an estate that nobody knows it exists?”

“Hermione,” Harry said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Now, now,” Ron said mildly, still with a full mouth. Hermione just smiled. 

  


Harry was standing at the beach of Mount’s Bay, Cornwall, his eyes narrowed against the salty wind, checking the coordinates Hermione had researched for him. After confirming that he was indeed at the right place, he looked out, his eyes searching. 

The tide was low, and right in front of him a man-made stone path stretched out, leading seemingly into the nothingness of the sea. 

He looked back towards where he could see the suburbs of the little town called Marazion stretching out behind him. He was sure that none of these residences had ever been worth being owned by the Malfoy Family, if in secret or not. 

He turned back, eyeing the trail in front of him suspiciously. He was just about to set foot on it when a stranger’s voice startled him.

“I would not do that if I were you, son!”

Harry blinked into the face of an old Muggle man, the bearded face lined by age. A foxhound was nosing at his hand, obviously expecting a treat of some form. 

“That path is cursed,” the man continued, when Harry failed to reply. “No one who followed it has ever returned.”

“You mean they drowned in the sea?,” Harry enquired, eyeing the man curiously. 

“They disappeared with the ruins of St. Michael,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“St. Michael?,” Harry repeated, his heart racing. His fist closed around the parchment with exactly that name written on it. 

“There used to be an island, at the end of this path,” the man explained, his voice dramatic in a way that implied his enjoyment at telling this tale. “The island was one big hill, and legends say a giant used to live on it. The giant, named Cormoran, only came on land to haunt the villages and rob its people. Until a farmer’s son called Jack slayed him. Having reconquered the island, a castle was built onto it. But the castle was cursed by the blood of the giant it was built on, and it housed something even more vile and dangerous than Cormoran had ever been. A monster, not human, not animal. Whoever would visit the castle would fall prey to the Beast.”

“There is no castle, though,” Harry said slowly, glancing down the path. “Nor is there an island.”

“The people were scared, so they set out to destroy it,” the man shrugged, his eyes glowing. “And the ruins were taken by the tide. But the curse remains.”

“Does it, now?,” Harry murmured, raising his eyebrows. 

For a moment, the old man stared at him curiously, before he shrugged again.

“It’s your fate to gamble,” he said, laughing. “Say hello to the Beast from me.”

“I will, should I meet him,” Harry chuckled, amused now. He imagined how Draco Malfoy would react to being referred to as “the Beast”. The mental image was almost enough to send him into a laughing flash. 

“Good luck,” the man said, saluting him. His dog barked, demanding attention. 

Harry turned back to the path, trying - and failing - to make out the end of it. It seemed to disappear straight into the sea, but Harry was sure that it indeed led to the lost Malfoy estate. 

He carelessly stuffed Hermione’s notes into the pocket of his cloak and retrieved his wand, before starting to set foot onto the path.

Harry had to walk about twenty minutes before anything happened. He had expected wards of some kind, trying to keep him out or even hurt him as he tried to enter, but to his surprise, nothing as harmful happened. Instead, it felt like he stepped through a curtain of magic energy. One moment, he saw just sea and the horizon. The next, he found himself facing a green, carefully gardened hill, tiny coastal cottages at its foot, and a small castle at the top. Harry came to a stop, taking in the sight in front of him with a quickening breath. 

_This_ would be considered worthy of a Malfoy. He was sure of it. 

He took a deep breath and walked on, crossing the last couple of feet towards the cottages. Everything seemed quiet, positively deserted, but too well-cared for it to actually be so. His fingers clenched around his wand as he pushed on, proceeding with care now. Draco Malfoy might not be his enemy any longer, but that did not mean that he would be welcome. 

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” he murmured, both relieved and disappointed when nothing happened.

At random, he trained his wand on one of the cottage’s doors.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” he whispered. 

The door creaked open without resistance, and Harry held his breath, waiting for someone to come forward. When no one did, he approached carefully, pushing it open enough to peek inside. 

The cottage was dark and dusty, as if no one had entered it in a few decades. The smell of decay hung in the air, and Harry flinched as his eyes fell on human bones at his feet. 

So _this_ was where the curious Muggles had disappeared to.

Harry took an unsteady breath and was about to turn around and head further up the hill when the door knocked into his back. He stumbled forward, confused, and found himself enveloped by darkness as the door slammed shut behind him. 

“ _Alohomora_!,” Harry called. Nothing happened this time. He lunged for the door, trying to open it manually, but the knob wouldn’t turn. “Shit!” Harry murmured. 

Harry took another look around, his eyes slowly getting used to the darkness. He saw light filtering through some cracks in the walls, where former windows had been barricaded with wood. Harry directed his wand to one of them. 

“ _Confringo_!,” he called. For a moment, flames lit up the wood covering the windows, but as soon as it had appeared, it was gone again. 

Harry frowned, directing his wand back to the door

“ _Reducto_!,” he called. There was a loud ‘bang’ as the spell hit it, causing Harry to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the door was still as intact as it had been before.

“Wonderful,” Harry breathed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Malfoy!,” he called, louder now, so that his voice would carry through the door. “I know you are here! I promise I don’t mean any harm! Let me out!”

There was no reaction, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that he was actually quite alone.

  


Minnie’s hands were shaking when she pushed open the door of the castle, her lips trembling as she tried to suppress whimpers. How had Harry Potter found them? No one was supposed to know of this place. 

She stepped inside hastily, her mind running. What should she tell Master Draco? He would be furious at hearing that he had been found, and then he would blow up the furniture again.

Darkness enveloped the room as the door fell closed behind her, but it only took a moment for light to come back to it again.

“Minnie, darling!,” the Candelabra called, greeting her with a slight bow, wax dropping to the floor. “You arrive just in time! The Stove wants your opinion on-”

“There is a Harry Potter being in the cottage!,” Minnie interrupted him, her voice high.

The Candelabra held in, and the candle light dimmed as he frowned at the elf.

“A what?,” he enquired politely. 

“Harry Potter!,” she squeaked. 

“A guest?,” the Candelabra asked hopefully, the flames growing so bright that Minnie had to advert her eyes for a moment. “We have a _guest_?!”

There were two almost parallel reactions to those words: On Minnie’s right, the door to the kitchen burst open, revealing the Teapot and three Cups hopping into the room, echoing “ _A guest?!,_ ” in hopeful excitement. And past the pantry the Candelabra was currently residing on, a crash was to be heard, followed by various painful whimpers and clanging noises, until finally, the Pendulum Clock straightened itself on the foot of the stairs. 

“A GUEST?!,” he called, sounding terrified. 

“No guest!,” Minnie called finally, halting all movement and directing all gazes back to her. “Harry Potter is being an Auror! He should not be here! Master Draco will be furious with Minnie!”

The Tea Set started to tremble at her words, the sounds echoing loudly in the halls. The steady ticking of the Pendulum Clock stopped. The flames of the Candelabra blew out. 

There was a long silence, only broken by the terrified rattling sounds of the Tea Set.

“What if we… don’t tell him?,” the Clock suggested timidly.

“It’s _Harry Potter_!,” Minnie shrieked. “Minnie cannot let him die!”

“Maybe no one will notice?,” the Clock insisted. “No one ever noticed the Muggles, either.”

“Harry Potter is being the hero of the Wizarding World!,” Minnie scolded. “He is defeating the Dark Lord!”

“Oh,” the Clock sighed. “So I guess they will notice, then.”

“Notice what?,” came a loud voice from the top of the stairs. 

Minnie whimpered, looking up. She could not see more than Master Draco’s outlines - he carefully kept to the shadows, and Minnie was silently grateful for it. She still had the most inconvenient urge to burst into tears every time she saw his face.

The Clock chimed in panic. With an incoherent mumbling, the Tea Set hobbled back towards the kitchen. The Candelabra dropped one of its candles. 

“Notice _what_ , Minnie?!,” Master Draco demanded. Even his voice was different. It seemed strangely magnified, and much more animalistic. 

Minnie was trembling again, and tears were collecting in her eyes. 

“Master Draco,” she breathed, bracing herself for the worst. “Minnie is catching a person down in the cottage.”

“A person?,” Master Draco repeated. “A Muggle?”

“No,” Minnie whispered.

“A wizard?!,” he asked sharply. Minnie’s silence was enough answer to him. “Who?”

Minnie let out another whimper. She closed her eyes, and her voice broke at the last syllable of the name.

She barely had time to duck before the windows splintered, and glass flew everywhere. 

  


It was getting dark outside. Harry could see the daylight dimming through the cracks in the wood as the sun set. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, resting his chin on them, wondering what the bloody hell he was supposed to do now. 

He had tried every spell in his repertoire, but nothing had managed to even harm the old foundations of the cottage. He couldn’t apparate out, either. In the end, he had even tried to kick in the door and pull the planks off the windows manually. All that had done, though, were bloody and bruised fingers, and a sprained ankle that throbbed in pain even in his crouched position. 

Was Malfoy really out there? And if yes, did he know that he was here? Harry had been sure that Malfoy meant no harm to him, not any more, at least, but maybe Ron was right and he had been naive. Malfoy was still a former Death Eater. He knew better than to trust him that easily, didn’t he?

Just as he was wondering if a Patronus would be able to reach Ron and Hermione from here, he heard movement outside. He tensed, immediately reaching for his wand, directing it to the door and holding his breath.

The doorknob turned slowly, and the door fell open, making Harry squint at the sudden light filtering through the darkness. For a moment, he saw nothing but glowing lanterns, and then, he registered a shadowy figure peeking through the creak of the door. 

It was way too close to the ground, though, to actually belong to Draco Malfoy.

“Who is there?,” Harry demanded, grabbing his wand a little tighter.

There was a moment of silence, before a unexpectedly timid, high-pitched voice answered.

“Harry Potter, Sir. If you would please be following Minnie up to the castle? The Master is expecting Harry Potter, Sir.”

Harry lowered his wand in surprise. A house-elf?

“Harry Potter, Sir?,” the elf called again, in obvious distress. 

“Yes,” Harry answered, still taken aback. “I… I’m coming.”

Getting to his feet was an effort, considering his hurt ankle, but the elf waited patiently until he stepped out of the door. 

Harry quickly scanned his surroundings. The sun had set almost completely, and the path was lightened by lanterns encasing it. The elf was looking at him nervously. It had tennis ball-sized green eyes, and was clinging to the blue-ish towel it was wearing. Harry wondered if it was male or female. He had never been good at guessing the gender of house-elves.

Before Harry could say anything, the elf turned abruptly, leading the way up the hill. Harry limped after her, biting his tongue against the pain in his ankle. He really wished he had taken the time to learn some healing spells from Hermione. 

“Are you working for Draco Malfoy?,” Harry asked after a good minute in silence, watching the shoulders of the elf tense at the question. It just kept walking, though, not turning around to face him, nor answering. “I was searching for him. He is here, isn’t he?”

Again, there was no answer. Harry decided it was better not to press for answers. Maybe Malfoy had given the elf instructions not to relay any information to him. 

The way up to the castle was surprisingly long and steep. Harry felt like they had once circled the whole island before he could finally make out the gates. By the time the heavy doors opened to the magic of the elf, Harry was heavily leaning on his healthy foot and breathing hard.

The inside of the castle was even darker than the cottage had been. At first, Harry hesitated under the house-elf’s nervous gaze. Finally, he whispered a low “ _Lumos_ ,”, holding his wand ahead of himself before stepping inside.

The light of his wand was still not enough to help him make out more of his surroundings. Harry flinched as the doors fell shut behind him. He could still feel the presence of the tiny elf behind him and waited for it to turn on any lights, but nothing happened. 

It was then, that a loud, unfamiliar voice bounced through the entrance hall, making Harry jump. 

“You have entered the castle grounds without permission! What do you want?”

Harry held his wand protectively in front of himself, both to be able to defend himself and in the vain hope that its light would reveal the unknown person in the room. No such luck, though.

“Malfoy?,” he asked. “Is that you?”

“You don’t need to know who I am!,” the bodiless voice hollered, and Harry tensed. It didn’t sound like Malfoy. He had known the other boy for eight years now, and though they had never been friends he was pretty sure he would recognize his voice if presented with it. This one was different, though - deeper, rougher, and so resounding that it hurt his ears. “Important is just that this is my property, and you have trespassed.”

“I am sorry,” Harry said stiffly. “It was not my intention. I am working for the Ministry, and am searching for someone who has disappeared. We have reason to believe that he might be in danger, and traces have led me here.”

“Does anyone know you are here?,” the voice demanded.

Harry hesitated. Both Hermione and Ron knew, of course, but he didn’t want to reveal his cards so quickly. Whoever this person was, he did not seem to want to be found.

“No,” Harry said finally. “I came alone.”

There was no reaction, and Harry wondered if he had made a mistake. Had he just given the other green light to dispose of him? He waited for a murmured spell, or a telltale flash, but there was nothing. 

“Who are you?” Harry asked again. “At least show me your face.”

“You don’t want to see my face,” the voice stated with a strange calm. Harry frowned. That was an odd thing to say. 

“Yes, I do,” Harry argued. “How will I know if you are the person I am searching for when I can’t see you?”

“Do I sound like him?”

“No,” Harry admitted, frowning. “But we both know that doesn’t mean anything.”

It was true, even though, strictly speaking, neither would it mean anything if he was faced with someone who did not look like Malfoy. Whoever owned this place had been warned of his presence. He could have used polyjuice potion. Though if he had, why hide in the dark?

“Would you believe me if I told you that I am hiding out here because someone like me _should_ not be seen by others?”

Harry frowned.

“No,” he said decidedly. “Not without hearing a reason for it.”

There was a deep sigh in response. Harry waited for more words, but instead, finally, light flared up in the room, blinding Harry for a moment.

When his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, he saw that the source of the light were actually lit candles placed in a candelabra. It was not enough to illuminate the whole room, but Harry could now make out walls and a flight of stairs, as well as a dark figure standing at their top. For a moment, the other person just seemed to stare at Harry, before, slowly, he took the first step down. He moved hesitantly, until finally, Harry could make out more than his silhouette.

He gasped, involuntarily taking a step backwards, and it made the other person stop.

It was a human shape, but at the same time… it was not. The first association Harry had was a werewolf, but it looked still too human for that. He had seen Remus in his transformed form, and he could tell the difference. This was something else. But what exactly, Harry could not say. He remembered Hermione in second year, when she had accidentally put cat hair into her glass of polyjuice potion, but even that had been different. He could see hair covering the other person’s skin like fur, but it was unlike any animal Harry had ever seen. Hermione had spotted fine, cat-like features back then. These were more unrefined, less identifiable. It was not only the fur, either. The darkness still hid the details from Harry’s view, but the skin underneath the fur looked strange as well. Red and irritated. Like the person in front of him had been severely burned before having hair grow out of his injuries. 

“Do you see now?” 

The unexpected words drew Harry out of his shock. Their eyes met. Harry recognized stormy grey before the other averted his gaze. Harry’s heart sank.

“Something like me should not exist,” the other continued. “No one can ever find me.”

“Who did this to you, Malfoy?,” Harry breathed. 

He was not sure what answer he had expected, but it had not been for the chandelier to come crashing down in front of him. Harry jumped, backing up until his back hit the closed doors. He was still hit by some of the shards. 

“ _I am_ not _Draco Malfoy!”_

This time, the voice seemed to have been magically magnified. It sounded even more inhuman than it had before. 

Harry gulped, glancing back over to where the other one still stood on the stairs, rigid. He was sure that it was Malfoy. He did not know what had happened to him, but he would recognize those eyes everywhere. 

“What happened to you?,” he repeated carefully. “A curse?,” he continued when there was no answer. “What kind of curse?”

There was a long silence. Just before Harry’s patience snapped, the other one finally spoke.

“Help me undo it,” was all he said.

“I will,” Harry promised. “Just let me take you to the Ministry, or to St. Mungo’s, and-”

“ _No!”_

This time, the windows exploded. Harry shielded his face from the flying glass. 

“ _Neither of us are leaving this castle! Not unless you find a way to undo it!”_

Harry took a deep breath, before finally, he nodded. 

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat to make his voice more steady. “Okay. I will help you.”

  


“ _Harry Potter_ , Draco?!,” his mother asked incredulous, the mirror on his wall showing her horrified face staring back at him. “You let _Harry Potter_ into the castle?!”

“He came by himself!,” Draco called defensively. “Was I supposed to let him die in that cottage like some common Muggle?!”

“You could have let Minnie set him free!,” she reminded him irritably. 

“He would have come back,” Draco shook his head. “Possibly with other Ministry workers. And then what?” There was a short silence between them, before Draco continued, in a much lower voice: “I had better chances if it was just him. Others might have killed me at sight. I knew he wouldn’t.”

“You don’t really believe he can help you?,” his mother asked skeptically. “His noble streak aside, he has never struck me as particularly smart. It was all that Mudblood friend of his.”

“As you know very well, I don’t have much of a choice!,” Draco returned, bitterness lacing his voice. “Father refuses to let me see a Healer or anyone at all, for that matter, and I am hidden in a castle which is not even listed in Ministry records. I can hardly wait for a better suited Ministry worker to stroll in here by accident.”

There was no response from his mother. She just stared at him with that same sadness in her eyes that Draco had seen every time he had used this mirror to talk to her. More than once he had wished for a one-way-communication - if that was how seeing his face made her feel, he did not want her to see it at all. 

“You know you cannot talk about the curse,” she said finally. “He will need information to break it, and you cannot give him any.”

Draco made a face. He knew she was right. He had long since realized that, whenever he opened his mouth to retell what had happened to him, his throat would close up and his skin would start burning until he screamed in agony. It was just one of the many, many effects the unknown curse had had on him. 

“I will think of something,” Draco said airily. 

“If you say so,” his mother sighed, sounding resigned. “Let’s not tell your father about this, though. He would not be pleased about this… development.”

Draco nodded, grateful for his mother’s reluctant support. He knew she did not approve of the situation, but she would let him have his way with it, and for now, that was more than enough. 

  


“This is being Harry Potter Sir’s room,” Minnie said timidly, leading Harry into a bedchamber on the third floor of the southern side of the castle. Harry could catch a glimpse at the sea out of the window. 

The room was about twice the size of anything Harry had ever lived in, including the dormitory in the Gryffindor tower. There was a king-sized four-poster bed against one wall, and a spacey, ancient looking wardrobe against the other. He could spot a writing desk close to the window, and an elegant three-piece suite not far from where he had halted in the doorway.

The elf was still looking at him as if he was the impersonation of its worst nightmare, and Harry tried to smile encouragingly. Only that seemed to alarm it even more, and Harry saw tiny hands clench on the blue towel. 

“What shall I call you?,” Harry asked, making an effort to sound especially kind.

“Minnie, Sir,” it said in a small voice. Minnie. Female, then?

“Thank you, Minnie,” Harry smiled. 

“There is being clothes in the wardrobe,” she said slowly, seeming to draw courage from his words. “And this door-,” she pointed to a second door on the left side of the bed, “-is leading to a bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Harry said again, and with a small bow, the elf disappeared. 

Harry limped the few steps over to the sofa and plopped down on it, wincing. His ankle really hurt. 

Before he could remove his shoe to inspect the damage, though, he heard an indignant “tsk”-ing sound and jerked up, scanning the room again. He had been sure he was alone.

“You are positively _filthy_. I can’t believe the Master led you in.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, until slowly, his gaze landed on the huge wardrobe again. It seemed to positively vibrate in alarm. 

“I… am sorry?,” Harry murmured, bewildered. 

“Well, don’t just sit there and apologize!,” the Wardrobe called in a middle-aged, female pitch, and its doors opened. Before Harry could react, fresh clothes were flung into his face. “Go and clean up!”

Numbly, Harry nodded, gathering the clothes and getting to his feet. He watched the Wardrobe over his shoulder as he moved across the room towards the bathroom door. The Wardrobe just huffed and shut its doors with a loud banging sound. 

The bathroom was large and luxurious, not unlike the prefect bathroom he had visited in fourth year. Thankfully, none of the furniture in here was particularly talkative. Harry would have felt quite embarrassed to converse with the tap while taking a bath. 

He felt slightly better after the bath. His hands were still bruised and his ankle hurt considerably, but his mind had been cleared a little and he could think rationally again. The first thing he did after having dressed in the fresh clothes (which fit him perfectly, curiously enough, from the underpants to the black dress robes) was to produce a patronus. He was unsure if it would be able to pass through the wards around this castle to reach Ron and Hermione, but it was worth a try.

“Tell them that I found Malfoy, and that he has been cursed. I will stay here until I find out more. Ron can tell Robards I am taking a few personal days off.”

The brightly glowing stag looked at him expectantly, but when Harry waved his wand, it turned and ran off, right through the walls. Harry hoped dearly that it would not cross paths with Malfoy on its way out. 

When Harry stepped out of the bathroom, he halted, staring at the tray of food standing near the three-piece suite. A plate of chicken and corn was placed on it, together with a goblet of pumpkin juice, and funnily enough, a tea set consisting of three cups and a pot. The weird combination was topped by the same candelabra he had seen in the entry hall, now standing next to the tea set.

“There he is,” Harry heard a low, child-like murmur, and frowned. “You were right, he looks underfed.”

“Shh, be quiet, he can hear you!,” said a second, female voice, which Harry was pretty sure came from the teapot, because it was accompanied by steam blowing out of its beak. 

“Excuse me…?” Harry said hesitantly, still eyeing the teapot. He only averted his eyes when the flames from the candelabra suddenly grew brighter. 

“Welcome to St. Michael’s, Mr. Potter!,” a deeper, male voice greeted him. “The Master asked us to serve you dinner. We hope we can satisfy you with our service - it has been a long while since we had guests in our castle…” For some reason, the voice took on a note of excitement at the word ‘guests’, and the flames flickered for a moment.

“We didn’t really expect anyone, either,” the female voice of the teapot added with a secretive chuckle. The cap jingled a little at the vibrations. “The Master does not really take any social calls.”

“Thank you,” Harry answered in bemusement. “I have to admit, I never had household devices serve me dinner.”

“But of course not, silly!,” the Teapot laughed, and her porcelain seemed to flush slightly pink in delight. “We are the only talking household in Britain, after all.”

“We are!,” the Candelabra agreed, seeming to grow taller with pride. “And we have been serving our Masters as well as any house-elves ever since Septimus Mal-,” the Teapot knocked into him insistently, and the Candelabra cleared his throat before continuing. “-our first Master charmed us in 1782.”

“I see,” Harry said, a slow smile spreading across his face. If he had needed any proof for Malfoy’s identity, here it was. “Well, you have a good timing. I really am hungry.”

The Cups jumped in delight at his statement.

Harry made good use of his meal in trying to pry more information out of the talking household under the veil of polite conversation. The Candelabra chatted on happily about the history of the St. Michael’s Castle and how it had fallen into magical hands, but whenever Harry tried to enquire about the family possessing it, he quickly changed the subject. 

“We have many devices at your service,” he rambled on importantly. “There is me and the Tea Set, and then there is the Pendulum Clock - though I would be careful with him, he can be very moody - and the Feather Duster, the lovely thing, and of course the Stove, and-”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. All devices immediately grew quiet, making Harry frown at the sudden silence. 

“Yes?,” he called.

The door opened, and Harry saw the shadowy form of the creature he had met earlier in the entrance hall peek into the room. _Malfoy_ , Harry reminded himself sternly. It was no creature, no matter how beastly it looked. It was Draco Malfoy. Harry had known him since he had been eleven years old. 

The Tea Set and the Candelabra bowed. “Good evening, Master,” they said carefully.

Malfoy did not acknowledge them. The grey eyes seemed to glow through the darkness, and Harry met his gaze evenly.

“I hope the room and the food are to your satisfaction,” Malfoy said quietly. 

“They are. Thank you,” Harry returned.

An awkward silence followed, in which the Candelabra and the Tea Set quickly excused themselves and the food tray scurried past Malfoy out into the halls. Harry wished they had stayed. 

It seemingly took Malfoy some courage to step further into the room. Harry could see him taking a deep breath, and his shoulders were tense as he closed the door behind himself. 

When he turned back to Harry, he stated, voice still uncharacteristically quiet: “You are hurt.”

Harry blinked, looking at his hands and his bare foot as if noticing his injuries for the first time himself. “Failed attempts to get out of your cottage,” he murmured, in way of explanation.

“Can I have a look at them?,” Malfoy asked, and Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You know any healing charms?”

Malfoy just shrugged, and finally, Harry held out his hands, palms up so the scratches and bruises showed. 

Malfoy stepped closer, lifting up one of the armchairs on the way and carrying it one-handedly over to where Harry was sitting on the bed. Harry gaped. That chair looked heavy, and Malfoy had never been particularly strong…

When Malfoy finally sat down, he was positioned right across from Harry, close enough to touch him. His furred hands were trembling a little and he was looking at Harry questioningly, as if giving him the chance to pull back if he didn’t want to be touched.

Harry didn’t move, just kept looking at Malfoy, waiting. 

His touch was soft when he cupped Harry’s left hand, more gently than Harry would have expected. The fur felt almost silken, not unlike Crookshank’s, and the flesh underneath radiated more heat than a healthy human body should. 

Harry was still studying Malfoy’s face, which looked so unlike the person he knew. He felt slightly sick when he spotted blisters and bloody rash under the slightly lighter fur of his face. What in Merlin’s name had happened to him?

Malfoy was not meeting Harry’s eyes, though. His gaze was focused on the hand in his, and with his free hand, he pulled out his wand, pointing it to Harry’s palm. Harry stared at the wand, wishing he had a way of recognizing it, but he had never returned his old wand to Malfoy after the war, and had never seen the new one the other had purchased after his trials had ended.

Malfoy whispered an incantation, and warmth spread over Harry’s palm as the skin knitted itself back together. Malfoy let go of the left hand and took an equally careful hold of the right, repeating the process. 

When Malfoy looked up, their eyes met for a long moment. Harry felt a knot in his throat. He tried to gulp it down, but it remained.

Finally, Malfoy let go of his right hand as well, backing off slightly. Harry took a shaky breath.

“Your foot,” Malfoy reminded him, his voice rough. Harry nodded, lifting his leg. Malfoy caught it in his hand, gently placing it in his lap. 

“You’ve never been this… nice to me,” Harry said slowly. His voice was weaker than he’d have liked it to be.

Malfoy froze for a moment, but just kept his eyes on Harry’s foot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We met for the first time today,” he said, his voice neutral.

“Right,” Harry frowned, watching as Malfoy lifted his wand to Harry’s ankle to heal it. The swelling was reduced visibly in a matter of seconds, and the pain receded. Harry sighed in relief. 

“What happened to you?,” Harry asked as Malfoy placed his foot gently on the ground again. 

Malfoy just looked at him, but didn’t speak.

“Who put this curse on you?,” Harry continued. “What kind of course was it? You have to give me something to work with.”

Malfoy’s jaw clenched, and Harry saw him gulp. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. For a moment, Malfoy seemed to struggle, and Harry thought he was trying to find words, but then, a small whimper left his lips, and he crouched on the chair in obvious pain. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, panicking, but Malfoy just shook his head, and finally, Harry understood. It was not that Malfoy didn’t want to talk about his curse. He couldn’t. Whoever had cursed him had made sure that he couldn’t tell a living soul about it. 

“Okay,” Harry said softly, his hand moving to touch Malfoy’s shoulder but restraining himself in the last moment. He didn’t know where he was hurting and he didn’t want to make it worse.”Okay, I understand. You can’t say.”

Malfoy looked up at him pleadingly, his face still a grimace of pain.

“Help me,” he whispered.

“I will,” Harry promised. “I will.”

  


Harry lay awake half of the night, the pleading note of Malfoy’s new voice never quite leaving his mind. 

He didn’t know what to do with any of this. He had never encountered a strange curse like this, even after one year of working as an Auror, and if he had, he would not know how to break it; mysterious curses were immediately handed over to either the Healers at St. Mungo’s, or in extreme cases, the Unspeakables. 

Harry knew, rationally, that there was no way for him to solve this riddle alone, but Malfoy seemed dead-set on not involving anyone else. 

But Harry had promised to help him, and he had no intention of breaking that promise. May it be what Ron and Hermione called his ‘Saving People Thing’, but he would rather accept one of Romilda Vane’s rather pushy and almost daily invitations for lunch, dinner, _anything_ than give up on Draco Malfoy when he knew the other counted on him.

Maybe this was the root of his resolution, Harry reasoned. Draco Malfoy had never asked Harry for anything at all, not in the way he had last night. He had always demanded, threatened, but he had never _asked_. He would have never shown this kind of weakness in front of Harry while they had been in school. And now that he had, Harry found that he did not have it in him to refuse his ex-nemesis.

Harry was woken rather rudely by the slamming doors of the Wardrobe. 

“Wake up, you!,” she called in exasperation until Harry opened his eyes to glare at her sleepily. “We are having breakfast at 9 o’clock in this household, so you’d better get cleaned up and dressed! Or shall I call the Pendulum Clock to properly wake you?!”

Grumbling, Harry gathered himself up, rather stumbling to his feet than standing up. Just as he had properly gained his footing, fresh clothes were flung into his face, and he knocked into the armchair in disorientation, cursing. 

He only just managed to brush his teeth, get dressed and comb through his hair once when there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Potter,” a deep, pompous voice called, making Harry imagine a middle-aged man of the size of Uncle Vernon. When he opened the door, though, he encountered a single, ancient looking pendulum clock roughly the size of the Candelabra staring up at him. 

“Thank god, you are ready!,” the Clock sighed, frame sacking slightly in relief. “I would have dreaded announcing to the Master that you are not having breakfast with him.”

“No need to worry,” Harry reassured him. “I have no intention of, um, letting your Master down.”

“You’d better not,” the Clock murmured darkly, turning and hobbling ahead down the hallway. Harry followed him hesitantly. “He has quite a temper, he has.”

“He seemed nice enough last night,” Harry said softly. 

“Well, you haven’t seen him blowing up furniture in his rage,” the Clock returned, shuddering slightly. His pendulum resounded slightly at the movement. “I keep thinking I will be next!”

Harry did not see it as necessary to point out that indeed, he had seen a preview of Malfoy’s explosive tendencies last night. Harry was still quite taken aback by that experience. Malfoy had not held a wand, and he had not been aware that the other boy had mastered wandless magic. Barely any wizard had. 

Now that the castle was illuminated by the sunlight, Harry could actually admire its beauty. The bright tone of the castle walls made it look friendly, so much that the legends Muggles told each other seemed almost silly. 

If not for the very real, beastly-appearing person living inside.

When they finally reached the dining room on the first floor, it was to find Malfoy already sitting at the table. Harry forced himself not to flinch when the other looked up at him. The aggressive raw redness of his skin underneath the fur seemed to shine even brighter at day than it had at night. 

“Good morning,” Malfoy said quietly, nodding at him in greeting. “I hope you had a good night’s sleep?”

“I did,” Harry lied, sitting down at the seat that had obviously been chosen for him. A rich breakfast buffet was spread out on the table, and Harry had to smile when he spotted the Tea Set to his right. The Tea Pot made a tiny bow at him. He nodded in greeting. 

Malfoy started eating without further conversation, and Harry felt rather awkward as he filled his plate with scrambled eggs and toast. The Tea Pot poured some tea into one of the Cups, which promptly hobbled over to Harry’s hand, nudging it. A little unsurely, he lifted it to his lips and took a sip. 

He looked up when he felt eyes burning into him, only to meet Malfoy’s strangely intense gaze. Malfoy hastily averted his eyes, though, taking a sip of his own cup. 

“So,” Harry said finally, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “If you can’t tell me about your curse, then how am I going to find a way to undo it?”

Malfoy hesitated, before returning: “There is a very generous library in the West Tower. If you still require other sources, I can have them brought over, too, so-”

“Did I ever strike you as a scholar?,” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m no good at this kind of stuff. It was always Hermione who did the research,” he held in for a moment, biting his lip. “Now, if I could consult Hermione, of course-”

“No!” Malfoy said loudly, making his Cup jump and spill some liquid onto the table. “There will be no involvement of other people!”

“Hermione is not even a Ministry employee,” Harry argued. “She can keep her mouth shut, and she would-”

“I said _no_!,” Malfoy hollered, and Harry’s glass of orange juice exploded. The glass splinters rained over his eggs and made his own Cup squeak in distress before it quickly hobbled back to the Tea Pot to hide behind her. Harry sighed, grabbing for a napkin to wipe away the juice that had spilled over his hands. 

“I am sorry,” Malfoy said in a small voice as Minnie appeared beside Harry, quickly taking away his plate and placing a new one in front of him. “I can’t control it. It’s part of the-,” with a choke, he broke off, his hand flying to his chest as he grimaced in pain. 

“It’s okay,” Harry said quickly. “You can’t help it. I understand.”

It took a minute until Malfoy’s breathing had slowed enough again for him to speak. 

“Nobody else can know,” he whispered. “Everyone will shy away from the monster I have become. They will not help someone like me.”

Harry let those words sink in for a moment, processing them. He could see why Malfoy would think that way. He was a former Death Eater, and in the post-war mood the Ministry was in, not many people would volunteer in taking his case seriously. After all, Harry had been the only one researching Malfoy’s disappearance, too. Malfoy would surely become the victim of many, many jokes, but if anyone would really help breaking the curse was questionable.

Of course, Hermione counted into another category. But with their history, he could not see Malfoy believing that. 

“Right,” Harry said finally, picking up his plate and filling it with a new helping of eggs. “I will not tell anyone, then.”

When he met Malfoy’s eyes again, the expression in it was so openly grateful that it made Harry uncomfortable. 

  


“You can move around this castle freely,” Malfoy told him as the walked up the stairs after breakfast. “Feel as much at home as you can. My servants will help you to whatever you need. All I ask you is to stay away from the highest tower.”

“Why?,” Harry asked curiously.

“It’s my quarters,” Malfoy said simply. “I like my privacy, that is all.”

Harry nodded, wondering what Malfoy was hiding up in that tower that he would explicitly forbid Harry to go there. He wished he had his invisibility cloak with him.

“This way leads to the library,” Malfoy continued, turning left. “If you need help finding anything, please ask the Dictionary. It knows the books we own better than anyone.”

“The Dictionary?,” Harry repeated, laughing. “How many talking household devices are there, exactly?” 

“Ten in total,” Malfoy returned. “Eleven if you count the Stature of my Ancestor who charmed the whole lot of them in the first place, which I don’t. Statures are like portrays. There is nothing special in them talking.”

“It was Septimus Malfoy who charmed them, wasn’t it?,” Harry asked casually.

“Exactly. He owned that castle in the 18th Century, and-,” Malfoy froze, his eyes wide. 

Harry smirked, satisfied.

“You prick,” Malfoy whispered.

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Malfoy,” Harry noted smugly. “I’ve known it was you from the start.”

“Then why are you still here?,” Malfoy asked incredulous, turning to face Harry. “Why did you even agree to help me?”

Harry frowned. 

“ _Because_ it is you,” he said simply. When Malfoy still stared at him in disbelief, he added: “I knew you wouldn’t disappear just like that. Plus the way your father talked about your disappearance was way too blasé. I knew something was up.”

“So you thought I was up to something,” Malfoy murmured, his jaw clenching, his gaze growing hard. 

“No,” Harry replied. “But I thought your father might be. That you could be in danger.”

Malfoy frowned at that, obviously taken aback.

“You were worried about me?,” he asked softly.

Something about his tone and the look in his eyes made heat spread over Harry’s face. He averted his eyes, speaking to Malfoy’s shoulder instead.

“Don’t be full of yourself. I just didn’t like seeing your case being ignored because of who you are. It’s no good if the Ministry keeps working on personal grudges rather than fairness.”

When Harry dared to look up again, the careful guard in Malfoy’s face was up once more.

“I see,” he said simply, turning and starting to walk again. Harry followed him. 

The library was a single, round room that stretched over the various stories of the tower. The book shelves seemed to go on endlessly, and there were narrow staircases spinning alongside them. The rest of the room was shared by various tables, a couch and some armchairs, and what looked like a cushioned corner just beneath a set of stairs. 

It looked quite nice, actually. If the Hogwarts Library had looked this cosy, maybe he’d have entered it voluntarily every now and then. 

“Dictionary!,” Malfoy called, and Harry jerked a little as without warning, a thick book that reminded Harry of the tomes Hermione usually read, fell down onto one of the tables with a loud smacking sound. The book wobbled a little as it stood up, facing Harry and Malfoy. 

“Master,” it said, its voice sounding old, frail and male. “How can I help you today?”

“I want to introduce you to Harry Potter,” Malfoy said stiffly. “He is a guest of ours, and I granted him free usage of the library. Please assist him.”

“Of course, Master,” the Dictionary wheezed in response, his pages rustling.

Malfoy nodded, throwing a look at Harry. 

“I will leave you to it,” he said simply. “We are having lunch at twelve. If you need me, please ask Minnie to call for me.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, slightly disappointed. He began to realize that his reference to his professional duties had been anything but beneficial for Malfoy’s trust in him. 

As the door fell closed behind him, Harry sighed, letting himself fall into the nearest armchair. The Dictionary wiggled towards the end of the table, then jumped, apparently aiming for the coffee table in front of Harry. He missed, though, ending up tumbling to the ground.

“How may I help you, Sir?,” he asked Harry in a muffled voice from the floor.

“I dunno,” Harry said miserably. “I have no idea where to start.”

“What are you searching for?”, the Dictionary asked, rolling around until it lay cover-up, facing Harry.

“A way to break your Master’s curse,” Harry murmured. “You don’t happen to know one.”

“No, son,” he said with a deep sigh. “But I can show you to the books the Master read for his research?”

“I don’t think that will help much,” Harry returned, leaning back into the armchair. 

“No,” the Dictionary agreed. “I guess not.”

Harry stared glumly across the room until his eyes fell onto a quill lying on a table near the window, filthy from dried ink and dust. The Dictionary seemed to follow his gaze and suddenly jumped up in alarm.

“I am so sorry that you have to see an embarrassing thing like this! We will have that cleaned up in a moment… _Aye, Quill!_ ,” he hissed in a lower pitch, jumping onto the table. “We have a guest. Get up, you!” 

To his surprise, the feather of the quill started to move drowsily. 

“Who cares?,” a voice sounding like one of a young adult man moaned, his tone long-suffering. “It’s all no use. Why am I even here? I should just drown myself in the ocean!”

“Stop talking like this!,” the Dictionary hissed, hobbling over and kicking the ink bottle to the other side of the table. “No more ink for you! Seriously!”

“You can talk!,” he sobbed, the feather falling back onto the table, limb. “You have work! The Master uses the library, doesn’t he? But me? Did you ever see him write a single letter? He doesn’t correspond with _anyone_! I am _useless_!”

The Dictionary turned to Harry, bowing slightly. 

“Please excuse this,” he said, sounding obviously embarrassed. “He is quite depressed. I thought some company would do him good, but as you can see…”

Harry, though, had perked up at the conversation.

“Are you in charge of the correspondence out of this castle?,” he asked slowly. 

“Yes,” the Quill sighed, quite lifelessly. “For centuries, I was in charge of high-profile correspondence with domestic and international high society, the Ministry Elite, and even various Ministers of Magic themselves. But now, I am not needed anymore! The Master prefers to talk to a mirror instead of writing letters, and I am destined to dry out and be miserable!”

“If I asked you,” Harry continued, ignoring the depressive monologue. “to send a letter out to my closest friends, and ro not tell the Master about it, would you do it?”

The Dictionary took a shaky breath, his pages fluttering anxiously. 

“Oh, my boy,” he said weakly. “I don’t think this is a good idea. If the Master said-”

But he did not get to finish his sentence, because the Quill jumped up excitedly, shaking out his feather to get rid of the dust.

“You want me to do _correspondence_?!,” he asked excitedly. “ _Of course!_ Whatever you need, I will do it! I will get you the parchment and I will write out whatever you tell me… I will even write slang if you want me to! Oh, the owls will be so excited!”

“But your Master mustn’t know!,” Harry repeated firmly. “When I receive an answer, you must give it to me when he is not around! This is extremely important!”

“ _An answer?!,_ ” the Quill called, sounding absolutely thrilled. “Of course! The Quill never writes and tells! Everything will be strictly confidential!”

Harry grinned, sitting up in his armchair. 

“Okay, then,” he said. “Please get some parchment.”

  


Draco stared out of the window, watching the tide recede from the coast, hugging his knees as close to his chest as he could. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he would just disappear. 

“Master Draco?,” Minnie asked timidly from the doorway. “Is everything being alright?”

“No, nothing is alright, Minnie,” Draco murmured, resting his chin on top of his knees. “Mother was right. I should have just let you set Potter free. This was stupid.”

“But Master is liking Harry Potter,” Minnie said softly, watching her Master’s back. “Minnie saw the letters.”

“That’s because Master is stupid,” Draco said quietly. “What did I think would happen?! He always hated me. He didn’t even want to shake my hand in first year. The only reason I am still alive is that he is so bloody _good_.”

“Harry Potter is saying he will help Master,” Minnie reminded him. 

“Because his job depends on it,” Draco said bitterly. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t need my testimony for the prosecution of war crimes.”

“Master was hoping that Harry Potter is being the one, wasn’t he?,” Minnie said gently. “The one who will be loving Master Draco for who he is, and break the curse.”

Draco threw a look at the rose standing in a glass case on the window sill. It looked still way too perfect, despite weeks having passed. The only sign that his time was running were the three rose petals on the stone sill, dead and lifeless. 

“He will never see me as anything else than the former Death Eater I am,” Draco said quietly, looking back out of the window. “There is no hope for me. I will forever be the Beast everyone believes me to be, inside and out.”

“Master is not being a Beast,” Minnie protested desperately, but Draco wasn’t listening to her anymore. 

  


Harry felt in much higher spirits when he walked down the corridor towards the dining room for lunch. He felt considerably calmer being able to consult Hermione about this matter. If anyone would find a way to break this spell, it was her. 

Malfoy was already sitting at the table when he entered. He did not look up when Harry sat down, seemingly too engrossed in his food. Even when Harry greeted him, he barely nodded.

An uncomfortable silence spread among the two of them, making Harry feel restless. He wanted to break the tension that his earlier words had unwittingly created, but he was not sure how. 

“The weather is nice,” Harry blurted out, immediately grimacing at his cliché choice of topic. Malfoy did not even dignify his words with a response. “Perfect for flying,” Harry continued, stirring the topic into more familiar waters. “Are you flying a lot? The area seems perfect for it.”

“I haven’t flown once since I arrived here,” Malfoy responded flatly. 

“Why?,” Harry asked, frowning.

“Look at me, Potter!,” Malfoy scoffed, finally looking up. “How would people react when they caught a glimpse of me? Even you should be smart enough to figure that one out.”

Harry had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. This, Malfoy snapping at him and insulting him, shouldn’t put him so much at ease. But it just felt so _normal_ that he wanted to laugh. 

“We could use disillusionment charms,” he proposed. “And fly over the sea.”

“No,” Malfoy groaned.

“Come on!,” Harry insisted. “I know you love flying as much as I do! It will clear your head and then we can focus on breaking the curse. Just for an hour or two! I swear we’ll work hard afterwards. Please?”

Malfoy looked up at him and stared as if he thought Harry had completely lost his mind. Which, fair enough, he probably really had, considering that he was inviting his ex-childhood-nemesis out for a round of flying. 

“Why do you even _want_ to spend time with me?,” Malfoy asked suspiciously. “I am sure that was not part of the job description when you took the case.”

“It wasn’t,” Harry agreed, grinning now. “But throwing a ball through the air by yourself is no fun. You kind of need a second person to catch it.”

“You’ve lost it, Potter.”

“Maybe. In which case you’d better fly with me. Who knows if I end up lost, seeing how I am so intellectually challenged.”

Malfoy huffed - it sounded like a chuckle that was turned into something else in the last second. 

“You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry smirked. “You have brooms, right?”

“Of course I do,” Malfoy scoffed. “We are updating them to the newest models regularly.”

“A ball?”

“We have a whole set of Quidditch balls.”

“So what are we waiting for?”

“You are mad.”

“I know, Malfoy. Now get up and give me a good chase for the Snitch.”

  


To say Draco was confused would have been an understatement. Potter had always been some sort of mystery to him, but as the other boy held out one of his own brooms to him, his eyes glistening in open challenge, Draco thought that he had never understood him less.

“This is insane,” Draco repeated, probably for the fifteenth time in five minutes.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter chuckled, obviously amused. “Merlin, I swear you were not this difficult to bait when we were in school!”

“You are the hot-headed Gryffindor out of the two of us,” Draco reminded him defensively, finally taking the broom out of Potter’s hand. He was taken aback when Potter outright laughed at him.

“As if you were any better!,” he called. “You only needed to hear my name and you were already mentally hexing me!” 

“That’s different. That was only because it was you!,” Draco protested. It took a moment for his own words to register in his head, and when they did, he flushed, for once glad for the thick fur covering his skin and hiding the embarrassment from Potter’s view. “Why _am_ I like this with you?!,” he groaned. 

“We were always able to get under each other’s skin, Malfoy,” Potter shrugged, leaning down to open the trunk of Quidditch balls Minnie had brought up to the court along with the brooms. “Some things never change.”

Draco blinked, realizing that Potter had not excluded himself from the statement. 

Potter smiled as his eyes roamed over the balls in the trunk, looking like a child on Christmas morning. “When was the last time _you_ played Quidditch?,” Draco blurted out. 

Potter shrugged, ignoring both the Bludgers that were desperately trying to fight their way out of their bonds as well as the shiny red Quaffle in the center of the trunk, instead opening the security latches to reveal the tiny golden snitch.

“The real thing, with real balls? I haven’t played that since sixth year. We occasionally improvise at the Burrow if we have enough players available, but it’s not the same.”

Before Draco could say anything to that, he picked up the snitch, letting it rest in his palm for a moment. The fine, golden wings fluttered tentatively before it gained momentum, rising into the air and taking off towards the sea. Both of them followed it with their eyes. 

Finally, Potter caught Draco’s gaze, smiling again.

“So, ready to lose against me, for old time’s sake?,” he asked, the mirth clearly audible in his voice.

Draco clicked his tongue. “As if I’d let you win, Golden Boy.”

Potter’s smile widened, as if to say he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  


It felt great to be back in the air. The sun was shining brightly on his face, and the wind was just right, refreshing enough but not cold. Harry was not quite used to the salty quality of the air when he flew, but he found that he enjoyed it. 

He looked over to where Malfoy was flying at his side. His appearance might have changed, but the way he held himself on a broom hadn’t. There had always been a certain grace to him when he was flying, and now that Harry didn’t hate his guts anymore, he could openly admire it. 

As Harry was watching him, Malfoy seemed to perk up, and in the next moment, he was diving down towards the sea.

One look down at the water surface made Harry catch sight of a slow glimmer: The sunlight catching on the Snitch’s golden surface. He grinned, and stirred his broom to catch up with Malfoy.

  


The fresh air and the adrenalin almost made Draco feel human again. The Snitch was there, right ahead of him as he raced over the water, feeling Potter directly at his heels. This was perfect, Draco thought, positively euphoric. Up here, it didn’t matter that he looked like a monster. As long as he could race Potter to the Snitch, that was enough. 

He reached out his hand, eyes focused on the little ball in front of him. He was so close that he could feel the fine wings flutter against his fingertips. But then, a body knocked against his from the side, throwing him off his aim. He snarled, rocking back into Potter, but it was too late - he had already closed his fingers around the golden ball, its wings fluttering helplessly against his fist. 

“You bloody-,” Draco groaned, but he was unable to finish the insult when Potter spinned up into the air, grinning. 

“You didn’t think you could beat me that easily, did you?,” he scoffed, catching Draco’s gaze smugly, before holding out his hand and opening his palm. The Snitch rose up again and took off in light-speed. “Two out of three?”

“I’ll make you regret ever stepping into my castle, Potter,” Draco growled. 

Potter just laughed. Draco couldn’t help but think he looked vibrant.

  


They ended up playing five matches, and Harry won three to two. 

“I still say you cheated on that last one,” Malfoy grumbled as they landed back on the same courtyard they had started from. “You tried to make me crash into that shore!”

“Says the one who splashed water in my face during the third match!,” Harry shot back. “I couldn’t see properly because of the salt water for about half an hour, you prat!”

“Sure, blame your blindness on the salt water, will you,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. 

Had Malfoy always been this funny? He did remember his colorful insults from school, of course, but not the intellect and humor behind them. Maybe he had just been too busy hating him to appreciate it back then. 

They fell into a comfortable silence as they stored the Snitch back into its case and brought the whole equipment back into the broom cupboard down in the entrance hall. 

“That was fun,” Harry said finally, watching Malfoy’s profile. Maybe it was because he was used to him now, but he started to recognize Malfoy’s features through the curse. The sharp curve of his jaw and the perfectly rounded cheekbones. “We should do that again!”

The corners of Malfoy’s lips were slightly raised, as if he were fighting a smile.

“You’re supposed to help me break the curse, not play Quidditch!,” he reminded Harry, his voice even.

“I work better with breaks to clear my head,” Harry smirked. 

“Well, then you should be able to make some progress now,” Malfoy pointed out. “We still have about three hours till dinner.”

Harry bit his lip, thinking. He knew he had no way of finding out anything before he received Hermione’s answer. Besides, he was not quite ready to let Malfoy out of his grasp again. He realized that Malfoy could not tell him anything, but he was still the only key to finding any clues. Of that, Harry was sure.

“I know you cannot tell me about your curse,” Harry said slowly, and Malfoy looked up to meet his eyes questioningly. “But have you ever tried writing it out, or using other means of communication?”

Malfoy only stared at him, frowning, and before he could answer, Harry’s hand closed around his wrist, tugging him along. 

“Come on, we have work to do!,” he grinned, and Malfoy followed him as if in a daze. 

He led Malfoy all the way up to the library, only realizing he was still holding onto him when he needed both hands to push the doors open. Hastily, he let go. Malfoy did not comment as he followed Harry through the entrance and towards the tables, but he could see him muster his hand absentmindedly. 

“Mr. Potter, Sir!,” an excited voice called, and Harry looked up to find the Quill bouncing towards him. He looked much cleaner now, Harry noted, both the ink stains and the dust gone. “What can I do for you?”

“Master!,” the breathier voice of the Dictionary perked up, and Harry saw him sliding out from underneath one of the armchairs. “What a pleasant surprise!”

The Quill seemed to only have noticed Malfoy’s presence then, because his feather quivered slightly as he bowed. 

“I am sorry, Quill,” Harry said quietly, grimacing. “But you don’t happen to have any, um, less talkative quills in the house?”

The Quill froze at Harry’s words. 

“What?!,” he asked, his voice shrill. “But whatever you need to write, I will be happy to-”

“It’s nothing personal!,” Harry said quickly. “But we cannot exactly put in words, um, verbally, what needs to be written… It’s nothing against you, really! We would love to use you next time, it’s just, right now…” Harry knew he was babbling, but the feather of the Quill had started sinking down lifelessly, and he had never felt so guilty towards any kind of household object before. 

“We have quills in the drawer beneath the books about Ancient Greek Magic, Mr. Potter,” the Dictionary threw in helpfully, his voice slightly sharpening as he directed his words to the Quill. “Please show him, will you?”

Almost defiantly, the quill jumped back over the tables, spilling ink on the surface as he made contact. The drawer opened with a wave of his feather, and old quills flew into Harry and Malfoy’s direction like arrows. Malfoy ducked, only barely dodging a quill that had been about to pierce his face. 

The Quill huffed and jumped into the drawer, shutting it with a loud ‘bam’. 

“Please excuse this,” the Dictionary said with a sigh, standing up and hopping over to the drawer. With obvious effort, he heaved himself up to enough to open it. There was some hissing and jousting, and finally, he drew out a pot of ink. “You can use this!,” he announced, kicking the drawer shut again. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, hesitantly picking up one of the lifeless quills from the floor. “Can we have parchment, too?”

As the Dictionary hopped across the room to fulfil his request, Harry drew out a chair for Malfoy, placing the ink and the quill on the table.

“Come on,” he urged.

Malfoy still looked wary, but he crossed the distance between them in slow steps, his eyes on the parchment flying across the room to land on the table surface right next to the other utensils. 

“Okay,” Harry said encouragingly. “Try to write about the curse. Who it was that cursed you, how they did it… Anything, really!”

Harry saw Malfoy take a deep breath as he picked up the ink pot to unscrew it. Harry realized that his hands were shaking as he dipped the quill into the ink, and he had to ball his own hands into fists to suppress the weird urge of squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. 

Malfoy stared at the blank parchment before finally setting the quill down. A drop of ink sank into it. 

Harry waited, but instead of writing, Malfoy’s hand just clenched around the quill. He twitched, and a shaky gasp left his lips. 

“Malfoy?,” Harry asked softly, stepping closer to catch the expression on his face. 

His jaw was painfully clenched, and he was trembling. His left hand clung to the surface of the table, the claw-like fingernails digging into the wood. The hand holding the quill was shaking badly now, and Harry quickly closed his own around it.

“Stop!,” he said sharply. “It’s okay, you can’t do it. I get it. Please stop!”

But the shaking didn’t cease, so Harry grabbed Malfoy’s wrist with his free hand, holding it still and trying to pry his fingers away from the quill. When he finally managed it, he saw that his nails had sunken into the skin of his palm, and he was bleeding. The quill fell onto the table with a loud, clattering sound. 

“It’s okay,” Harry murmured, his voice softening. His own fingers curled around Malfoy’s, trying to stop the shaking. “It’s okay. We’ll find another way. Just calm down.”

Malfoy’s breath came still in little gasps, and suddenly, Harry had no more reservations to touch his shoulder in comfort.

  


When Harry made it back into his room that night, he was troubled. They had tried all kinds of non-verbal communication he could think off, from nodding and shaking the head in answer to a question, to gestures or pointing, and none of it had been any more successful than the first attempt at writing had been. Even if Harry had any other ideas, he would be unwilling to try them after what he had seen. Malfoy’s pain-stricken expression was burned into his mind, and it made him feel slightly sick in the stomach.

He looked up when he heard the rustling of wings from across the room, only to find a tall, handsome hawk owl looking at him expectantly.

Next to it lay the Quill, moping.

“You got an answer?,” he asked, his mood picking up considerably. “Brilliant! I really need to talk to her!”

“If you need one of my _less talkative_ brothers to formulate an answer, I will be glad to call them,” the Quill murmured, brushing his feather along the feet of the owl, making it glare at him. 

“No, I’d rather use you,” Harry said kindly, smiling at him. “I am sorry about this afternoon. The curse, you know. I didn’t want you to get smashed because of your Master not being able to control his reactions.”

At that, the Quill perked up. “That is the only reason you didn’t use me?,” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Harry said solemnly. “Who wouldn’t prefer a talking quill over, um, non-talking ones?”

“Exactly!,” the Quill exclaimed, standing straight. The owl backed away from him, watching him sharply. “Please go ahead and read your letter, Mr. Potter. I will be waiting to compose your _answer_ for you!” His voice jumped happily at the word ‘answer’, and it made Harry smile. 

“Thank you!,” he said, taking a seat and untying the roll of parchment from the owl’s feet, along with a little pouch, which he placed on the table for now. He crawled the owl’s head absentmindedly as he unrolled the parchment, recognizing Hermione’s neat handwriting.

“ _Dear Harry,_

_Thank god you are okay! Ron and I were anxious when we received your Patronus last night!_

_Malfoy’s curse sounds horrible! I have been scanning some books - there are curses that would give the victim animalistic features, of course, but none seem to quite fit your description. If anything, I would have suspected the_ Caninus _curse, but that one would turn your behavior dog-like too, so that cannot be it. Also for Malfoy’s magic to be affected like this… No curse I know can do that, Harry._

_But of course, there are forms of magic I don’t know, or that are not used frequently in our culture. Do you really have no clue who cursed him? It would help a great deal to know where to search._

_Ron told Robards that Andromeda was feeling unwell and you took in Teddy for a couple of days. He seems to have believed it, even if he seemed displeased that you didn’t owl him personally. Maybe you should still do that._

_Your invisibility cloak is in the pouch. I shrunk it so it would be less suspicious should anyone happen to see it._

_Please watch out for yourself! I don’t think Malfoy is any danger to you nowadays, but don’t provoke him, especially when he is not in full control of his magic! Also, you never know, the caster of the curse could still be around. It could be Lucius Malfoy himself, for all we know._

_Tell me immediately if you have any new information I can work with!_

_Love,_

_Hermione”_

Harry put down the letter and pulled his wand out of his pocket, directing it at the pouch and murmuring: “ _Priori Incantatem_.”

The pouch quickly grew thrice its size and the owl shrieked, taking flight out of the window. The Quill appeared from under it.

“Ready to answer, then?,” he asked, positively chipper. 

  


“So you let him know who you are?!,” Draco’s mother asked, staring him down through the mirror, obviously unimpressed.

“It was an accident,” Draco grumbled. “He tricked me into it.”  
“He’s a Gryffindor,” she pointed out, eyebrows raised. 

“Well, he can be pretty Slytherin-ish, if you ask me,” he snapped back. 

Suddenly, the door to his room opened, and Draco looked over, frowning when no one entered. He walked over, glancing outside. There was no one in sight. 

“Was anyone here?,” Draco asked in confusion, looking down at the Foot Mat questioningly. “Minnie?”

“No, Master,” it said solemnly. “Just good ol’ me.”

With a frown, Draco closed the door again and turned back to the mirror, which showed the enquiring expression of his mother.

“Everything in this house has its own mind,” Draco groaned. “I hate it.”

“You have your own castle, and you are safe, so stop complaining,” she waved him off. “Or well, as safe as you can be, with Harry Potter under your roof!”

“I told you, Mother, he means no harm to me!,” Draco sighed. “He’s here because the Ministry ordered him to determine my whereabouts, and now his heroic character made me his new charity mission,” he grimaced a little at the thought, before continuing: “He is not going to hurt me, though.”

“Why do you trust him?,” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. “When you were younger, it was all _‘Potter did this, Potter did that’_ and now you’re laying your life into his hands?”

“He saved my life before,” Draco said quietly. “And he testified for us at the trials.”

“Only because I did not give him away in front of the Dark Lord,” his mother reminded him. 

“ _You_ obviously thought he was worth trusting back then,” Draco returned irritably. “Why are you so suspicious now?”

“That was different,” she frowned. “The boy had just survived a killing curse for the second time in his life. And the only thing on my mind was to get to you,” she added, a little more softly.

“I’m far from blaming you,” Draco murmured, equally as softly. “If I’m thankful for anything, it’s for the decision you made back then.”

Draco’s face sobered as he notice the strange look his mother gave him. 

“You’re not… hoping he will… break the curse in the… _traditional_ sense, are you?,” she asked hesitantly. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco returned stiffly, and before his mother was able to elaborate further, he continued: “I’m done discussing this, Mother. I have to do _something_. The rose is wilting,” with a wave of his hand, he gestured to the glass case on the window sill. Six rose petals were now lying lifelessly on the stone surface. “My time is running out. No one but Potter will help me, and I am not going to turn him away because you fear he might betray me!”

“I wish you would not give him any power over you, my love,” she whispered sadly. “You will only get hurt.”

Draco looked away, knowing that even in his cursed condition, his face was far too open. 

  


Harry was ducking a little to completely fit under the cloak. After the war he had still grown an inch or two, and he was paranoid that if he stood too straight, his feet would show. So he was standing crouched in a far corner of the room, watching Malfoy talk to his mother through a charmed mirror, knots twisting in his stomach as he did. 

Malfoy seemed vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be around Harry. Seeing the troubled, haunted look in those grey eyes hit Harry in a surprisingly sore spot. It made him remember sixth year, when Malfoy’s desperation had been growing daily, and how instead of reaching out to him, Harry had ended up almost killing him. 

Narcissa looked as affected as Harry felt. He knew she could read something in her son’s behavior that Harry couldn’t, and suddenly he wished he had a way of getting the answers out of her.

She knew what had happened to him, didn’t she? _‘You’re not hoping he will break the curse in the_ traditional _sense, are you?,’_ had been her words. Harry wanted to know what she had meant. So they actually knew of a way to break the curse? Why not just tell him? He knew Malfoy couldn’t, but Narcissa could. He had turned up at the Manor, begging to hear what had happened to her son, hadn’t he? She could have just told him what to do, and even now, she could still search him out. 

But she didn’t trust him, he thought bitterly, and felt a strange warmth at the thought that Malfoy had actually _defended_ him in front of his beloved mother. _He_ did apparently trust Harry, surprising as it was. 

“I’m tired,” Malfoy said finally, after a long pause. “I’d like to sleep.”

Narcissa sighed, looking resigned.

“Fine. Sweet dreams, my dear.”

“Goodnight, Mother.”

Malfoy watched as his mother’s face disappeared from the mirror surface, turning to his own, cursed one. He snarled and turned around, sitting down on the bed. 

With a forlorn expression, he looked up at the glass case on the window sill, containing a single, perfect red rose. Perfect, except for the petals it had lost and that were lying on the stone surface of the sill. 

“ _Before the last petal of the rose has fallen,_ ”he whispered to himself, and Harry bit his lip, realizing the meaning of those words. So they were working on a time limit. If the curse wasn’t broken by the time the rose had died, they would never be able to undo it. 

He watched Malfoy’s face, mustering the familiar features under the furry and irritated skin. The thought of not being able to see Draco Malfoy’s real face ever again hurt more than it should, though Harry could not quite figure out why.

He watched as Malfoy got to his feet, shrugging out of his cloak and unbuttoning his shirt. He took in the bright red patches showing on his bare shoulders, wondering if they were painful to the other boy. If he was living in pain each day. He kept watching as Malfoy unbuttoned his trousers, too, stepping out of them and folding them, neatly hanging them over a nearby chair with his cloak and shirt. He held in for a moment, watching his reflection in the mirror.

“Hideous,” he whispered. Something in Harry’s chest twisted.

Finally, Malfoy slipped under the covers. He murmured a low “ _Nox_ ,” and the lights of the room distinguished. 

Harry waited, careful not to make any noise until Malfoy’s breathing had evened out and he was sure that the other was asleep. Then, he straightened himself up and walked across the room, halting at the side of his bed. 

The moonlight illuminated Malfoy’s sleeping face a little. He looked peaceful like this, not dangerous at all, Harry thought. Silently he shrugged off the cloak, just looking at him.

“We’ll find a way,” he whispered in promise. “I will proof to you that the trust you put in me is justified. I won’t betray you.” 

Instinctively, he reached out his hand, gently brushing his knuckles over the soft fur of his cheek. Malfoy did not stir. 

  


Harry had been unable to sleep after having slipped out of Malfoy’s room, and had decided to search out the Quill again, asking him to pen out another letter to Hermione, telling her about the rose and how the curse seemed to be manifested within.

It had been way past midnight when he had finally made it to bed, and even then, he had lain awake, trying to figure out anything useful from the conversation he had overheard. The knowledge that Narcissa Malfoy was keeping information from him was driving him insane, but if anything, it made him even more determined to break her son’s curse, if only rub it into her face. But he didn’t even know where to start, and Malfoy, though he had been willing to try the previous day, was not much of a help. Also, he didn’t want to cause him any more pain, and he had the feeling that, even if they kept trying, Malfoy would be unable to communicate anything to him. 

He finally fell into an uncomfortable sleep around the time the sun started to rise, and had not slept nearly enough when the Wardrobe woke him in her usual less than soft manner. 

Malfoy was still looking troubled when Harry joined him at breakfast, though he was considerably better rested than him. He noticed Malfoy’s eyes drift over his face when he greeted him, but he did not comment on the dark rings Harry knew were there.

“Let’s look at some books about foreign magic and curse breaking later,” Harry suggested as he filled his plates with eggs. “Together. You would know better where to look than I do.”

“Okay,” Malfoy said softly, frowning at his own plate. “I am not sure I will be able to communicate it to you, though, should I find anything.”

“We will see,” Harry said, digging in. 

  


“We have some books on magic in the old Rome, too,” the Dictionary rattled on, hopping up the narrow stairways leading to the upper book shelves, Harry right behind him, carefully levitating the recent book they had found on Mayan rituals onto the piles on the tables. 

Malfoy was on the other side of the room, silently running his fingers along the spines of the books as he read their titles. 

“Here it is,” the Dictionary said, and a single battered title jerked itself free of the shelf. Harry levitated it out with another wave of his wand.

“Thank you, that should be enough for now!,” he smiled, and the Dictionary bowed to him. 

Harry carefully stepped down until he was back on secure stone floor, looking up at Malfoy. 

“Found anything interesting?,” he asked.

When there was no answer, he stepped closer. He saw that Malfoy’s hand was reaching out to a book, but it looked like he had frozen mid-movement, his whole body trembling. His face was scrunched up in a painful grimace, but his eyes were still focused on the one title in front of him.

“Hey, relax!,” Harry said softly, touching his shoulder. When Harry’s fingers closed around the book in question, his shoulders sagged and he let out a pained whimper. Harry’s arm slid around his back instinctively, as if he could physically protect him from the pain. “Let’s sit down,” he whispered. 

Harry led Malfoy past the chairs and tables where the books he had collected lay, and even the armchairs and the couch, walking on towards the cushioned corner near the window. It looked much more comfortable than the rest of the room, and especially inviting now that he knew Malfoy was in pain. 

Harry pushed the other to sit down, and when he seemed to have made himself comfortable, he plopped down next to him. The ground had been lain out with what felt like futons, and it was surprisingly soft. 

Malfoy was still sitting in a crouched position, his breathing uneven. Harry lay his hand back on the other boy’s shoulder in comfort, then hesitated. 

“Does it hurt if I touch you?,” he asked unsurely.

“No,” Malfoy murmured, his voice breathy. “Unless you are rough.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “Is this alright?,” his eyes flickered shortly to the hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, then back to his face.

“Yes,” Malfoy answered, frowning. “Though I am not sure why you would want to touch me in the first place. Don’t I disgust you?”

“No,” Harry frowned, and when Malfoy met his eyes, there was surprise in those grey orbs. “To be quite honest, I was more disgusted by you when we were still in school.”

Malfoy averted his eyes once more at that. Harry wasn’t sure if he said the wrong thing again, so he let go of Malfoy and instead directed his gaze to the book in his hand.

“Traditional Magic originating from Central Africa?,” Harry read out loud. “Curious. Is that supposed to be a clue?” When Malfoy just looked at him warily, Harry smiled. “Don’t answer that,” he ordered. 

Draco gave him a small smile in return.

  


They spent a good part of the morning stretched out in that very corner as Draco watched Potter read. He had read the book himself right after he had arrived at this castle, but he had not found any answers in it. Still, the way African curses differed from British magic would probably give Potter an idea of what he was faced with. It was the most information he could give him, in his condition. 

Draco quickly realized that Potter was not much of a scholar. He often interrupted his reading to adjust his position or stare into space, and sometimes, he would look at Draco, but Draco would always pretend to skim through one of the other books Potter had found them. 

At some point, Potter’s earlier words caught up with him, and he realized that, if he ever wanted to say it, now was the moment.

“I am sorry, by the way,” Draco said, making Potter look up in confusion. “About how I treated you and your friends at school, and about all the mistakes I made during the war.”

“...Oh,” Potter said softly, clearly taken aback. “I am glad to hear that. I mean-,” he cleared his throat. “Ron never quite understood why I spoke for you and your mother at the trials. I told him I did it because I think that, if you had had a choice, you would have acted differently. I am glad to hear that I was right.”

“I am not sure about acting differently,” Draco admitted. “But the war made me realize a lot of things. Like to question what my parents taught me. The faultiness of pureblood elitism.” Draco bit his lip, feeling slightly shaky. He had never put these thoughts into words, not even in front of his mother. “I realized that I should value myself and what I want more than what is expected of me in the Malfoy name. Or well,” he murmured, shrugging helplessly. “At least that’s what I was trying to do, before _this_ happened.” He gestured to himself.

“Did your father curse you?,” Potter asked, his voice hard. “Because you defied him?”

Draco looked up at him, trying to shake his head, but his lungs closed up at the attempt and his skin prickled in warning. So instead he pleaded Potter with his eyes to understand.

There was a moment of tense silence, before Potter let out a shaky breath, the expression in those green orbs softening. 

“I guess not, then,” he said simply. Draco relaxed, relieved. 

“Anyways,” Draco continued, clearing his throat. “I just wanted you to know that I am not that person anymore. And apologize for everything I did to complicate your life.”

Potter smiled at that. 

“Malfoy,” he chuckled. “You will _always_ complicate my life, no matter if you are trying or not.” Draco grimaced at that, looking at his furry hands. “But that’s okay,” Potter continued, making him look up again. “At least you are making me feel alive again. It’s been awhile since I’ve been so focused on anything.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Draco frowned.

Potter grimaced, fumbling with the page he had been reading before Draco had started talking. “The things is,” Potter said finally. “Things haven’t exactly been going ideally since the war ended.”

Draco waited, but Potter didn’t elaborate.

“But you are an Auror,” he pointed out in confusion. “You are everyone’s hero and-”

“I hate being an Auror,” Potter cut him off. “And I never wanted to be everyone’s hero. I just want…,” he trailed off with a sigh. “I don’t know what I want, actually, just that my current life isn’t it.”

Draco watched Potter’s profile, progressing this. 

“I thought you would be living the perfect life,” he murmured. “Famous and loved. Perfect job. Perfect girlfriend to be wife. Perfect children in the future.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but Potter surprised him by outright laughing at them. 

“There is no future wife, Malfoy, and surely no future children in sight. Nothing about my life is perfect.”

“Oh,” Draco said softly, Potter’s admission doing weird things to his insides. “Well, for all it’s worth, we are in the same boat, then.”

“Yeah, I heard about your failed engagement,” Potter said, grinning now. “The one you’re supposedly salvaging in France as we speak.”

“I never intended to marry her,” Draco said quickly, his heart racing. “I am not marrying for the family name. If I marry, it will be for love.”

There was a short silence, and then, Potter met Draco’s eyes again, a soft smile on his lips.

“Good for you,” he said sincerely, and it made Draco feel warm inside. 

  


They returned to the library after lunch, but Potter was clearly not in the condition to get much more reading done, because not even half an hour after he had settled back down with the book, he was napping with his cheek resting against one of the pillows. Draco lay on his side, watching his chest rise and fall with even breaths, for once allowing himself to indulge in the feelings he had discovered shortly after his trials. 

Ever since he had met him, everyone had told him that he was obsessed with Harry Potter. He had found it insulting back then, but now, at age nineteen, he could finally admit, if only to himself, that they had been right. 

Potter had been the first person to purposefully refuse him something he really wanted: his friendship. But it was more than an 11-year-old’s tantrum that had carried this fixation all the way through his school years. Potter had gotten under his skin like no one else, and still did. For years and years, everything had bothered him about Potter - his stupid hair and his stupid eyes, his stupid friends, the way he would laugh or look ridiculously stunning in his dress robes. His magical power, his sense for purpose, his compassion. Now he knew that Potter had bothered him so much because he had admired him, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to.

The messy black hair had made Draco want to run his fingers through it to mess it up even more. The beautiful, green eyes had seemed like they could see right through him whenever they were directed at him. The way he had interacted with his friends had made Draco wish that Potter would look at _him_ this way. His laughter had brightened up every room. In fourth year, during the Yule Ball, Draco had completely forgotten about Pansy’s existence the moment he had spotted Potter. The sheer force Potter’s magic carried with it was stunning and damn attractive (So? Draco was a Slytherin). The look of determination in Potter’s eyes haunted Draco’s dreams (and not the nightmares). And the way Potter had saved him from the fiend fire in the Room of Requirement, though he’d had no reason to, though they had been on different sides…

Draco had stopped believing in anything, but Potter was the one person he would trust with his life. It didn’t matter what Potter thought of him. Draco knew that he would never let anything happen to him, and for that, more than anything, he couldn’t help but love him. 

But that wasn’t enough. If Potter didn’t love him back, the curse wouldn’t be broken - and how could he, with Draco’s past and the way he looked now? 

It was hopeless. Draco knew it. But still, a tiny part of him couldn’t help but hope. 

He tentatively reached out his hand, brushing his knuckles along Potter’s cheek tenderly. He wanted him so much it hurt. 

Potter stirred at the contact, and Draco quickly withdrew his hand. He sat up, his heart racing. 

“Damn, sorry,” Potter yawned, rolling onto his back and stretching. “I know I’m supposed to be working, not sleeping.”

“It’s okay,” Draco murmured. “You looked tired.”

“Didn’t sleep well,” Potter shrugged, sitting up, tool. “You wouldn’t be up for some flying, by any chance? To clear the head?,” he asked hopefully. It made Draco smile.

“This time, I won’t lose,” he warned. 

“We’ll see about that,” Potter grinned, and Draco thought, with a twist of his stomach, that he was completely doomed. 

  


Harry had been aware that he had missed playing Quidditch, but he’d had no clue that he had also missed playing against Draco Malfoy. 

When he played against the Weasleys, something was just missing. Maybe it was the competitiveness, maybe the challenge. Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but here, up in the air, chasing after the golden Snitch with Malfoy right next to him, it felt like he had found it. 

Adrenalin was pumping through him as he reached out, but the Snitch was still a teensy bit out of his reach. To his right, he felt Malfoy edge that slight bit ahead of him, and Harry stirred into his side, trying to crowd him. Malfoy, always himself on a broom, and never careful with Harry, elbowed him into the ribs. Their pushing and pulling ended in a little scrap, and as a result, Harry lost balance and tumbled off the broom. Which was no problem, really - the water was right underneath their feet, so really, the only thing hurt was Harry’s pride. 

Harry tried to blink as he found himself underwater. He couldn’t open his eyes without them burning from the sea water. He scrambled to swim back to the surface quickly, when suddenly, his foot caught on something. 

He forced his eyes open to find the greenish shape of a Grindylow winding itself around his ankle and pulling. Frustrated, Harry reached for the wand in his pocket, but both his hands were caught by other Grindylows in that very moment. Before he knew it, he found himself surrounded by a whole swarm trying to pull him to the ground. He struggled desperately, but all that happened was the oxygen fleeing his lungs and escaping through bubbles towards the surface.

  


Draco was distracted the moment he heard a splash, slowing down in his chase of the Snitch. Potter’s broom was hovering above the water surface. Potter himself was nowhere in sight.

“Really?!,” Draco asked out loud, looking over his shoulder. The Snitch had used his moment of inattention to disappear from sight. 

With a sigh, he waited for Potter to come back to the surface. He hadn’t meant to push hard enough to actually throw him off his broom, but then again, Potter had given as well as he’d gotten.

Draco frowned when a few stray bubbles reached the surface, but Potter was still nowhere in sight.

“You _can_ swim,” Draco said into the silence. “I saw you at the Triwizard Tournament, you prat. Get out of there.”

But still, nothing happened, and a slow, numbing fear spread through Draco’s chest, settling there.

“By Salazar,” he whispered, grabbing for his wand and hauling himself after Potter into the water. 

For a moment, his eyes refused to cooperate, burning from the sea water. Then, he saw a swarm of Grindylows underneath him. Something was struggling in its midst. 

Draco pointed his wand at them, hoping desperately that the spell would work without verbalization.

It did. A stream of red light cut through the water, right into the swarm of Grindylows. They froze, floating through the water unmoving. Draco waited for a moment, and when nothing moved, he swam towards them. He got his fingers around Potter’s wrist, pulling him against his chest. 

He was not moving. His eyes were closed. 

Working solely on adrenalin and panic, Draco got an arm around Potter’s waist, trying to push them both back to the surface, but Potter was heavy in the water and his own oxygen was running thin.

In that moment, the Grindylows awakened. One closed its tentacles around his foot. Draco cursed inwardly, firing another spell. The first try missed them. The second hit.

For a moment, Draco thought he would lose consciousness, but he could feel Potter’s body against him, and refused to black out.

Draco did not remember, later, how he had reached the surface again, but somehow, he had managed. He grasped onto Potter’s broom, gasping for air. He squeezed his arm around Potter, but the other did not stirr. 

“Potter!,” Draco groaned. “Oh, for the love of-”

He gasped in a deep breath and located Potter’s mouth with his own, breathing into it. He had no idea what to do, he thought desperately. He had never been taught first aid the Muggle way, and Hogwarts had not nearly educated them enough on healing spells. 

“Come on, Harry,” he gasped when he came up for air again, and in that moment, _finally_ , Potter coughed. Draco almost let him slip back into the water in relief, but he kept his grip both on the broom and on the other boy. 

“Harry!,” he called again. “Can you hear me? Harry!”

At last, green eyes opened and stared at him in a slight daze. 

“Oh thank Merlin,” he whispered, resting his forehead on Potter’s wet shoulder. 

“You called me by my first name,” the other brought out, his voice choked, and he coughed some more.

“ _That’s_ what you have to say?!,” Draco groaned. “You almost drowned on me, you git!”

“Sorry,” Potter said weakly, and finally, his hand came up next to Draco’s, grasping the broom for support. The other arm slung around Draco’s shoulders, holding on.

  


“Here’s some Murtlap essence for the stings,” Malfoy said, handing him a bowl with the sticky liquid. His fur was still slightly damp, even though the first thing he had done when they had landed back on the castle grounds was dry Harry with a spell so strong his hair had frizzed a little from it. 

He then had proceeded to practically push Harry into an armchair of the parlor in the first floor and had rushed off without a word. A few short seconds later, the Tea Set had hopped in to serve Harry something warm (which was very welcome - even in his dry state he was still shivering), and the Candelabra had rushed in to fuss over him, only resulting in getting wax all over his jeans. 

Now Malfoy was back, Minnie in tow and still looking anxious as he sat down opposite of Harry, watching as he applied the essence on the angry red marks around his wrists. 

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said finally, his voice quiet, almost shy. Not like the person he knew, or had _thought_ he knew. “I didn’t mean to push you off the broom. I think I got carried away.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry frowned, halting in his movements. “We were playing. It happens.”

“I am not really used to the strength I have in this… condition,” Malfoy said hesitantly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Harry protested. “You saved my life. I think you more than made up for it.”

“You saved my life before, too,” Malfoy murmured, almost inaudible, but Harry still caught it.

“I also sliced you open once in sixth year,” Harry returned irritably. “Are we really going there now?! We’ve gotten each other in and out of trouble more times than I can count. No harm done. Subject closed.”

Malfoy stayed silent, and Harry felt unreasonably frustrated with him. He reached for the towel Minnie had put on the arm of his chair and threw it at him.

“Dry yourself,” he ordered. “You will catch a cold!”

Malfoy just grumbled, but did as he was told. 

There was a tense silence between them as Malfoy dried off and Harry applied the Murtlap essence to his skin. When Harry was done, Malfoy was still avoiding his eyes. Desperate to break the tension, he lept for the first thing that popped into his mind.

“You called me by my first name earlier.”

“That again?,” Malfoy asked with a sigh. “It slipped. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t say I disliked it,” Harry added quickly. “It had much less venom to it than your usual _‘Potter’_.” He imitated Malfoy’s sneering at his last name, relieved when the other bit down on a smile.

“Maybe I like snapping your name like that,” he said airily. “It brings me peace.”

“I am sure it does,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Listen, here is a suggestion: You call me Harry, and I call you Draco.”

Harry did not miss that Malfoy was gulping at the sound of his own first name from Harry’s lips. He saw his Adam’s apple bounce.

“That would sound almost like we’re friends,” Malfoy pointed out, a tinge of a challenge in his voice. Harry had to smile at that.

“Isn’t that what we are?,” Harry shrugged, pointedly casual. “Saving each other’s lives and playing Quidditch qualifies as ‘Friendship’ for me.”

“I should have known that this is what you look for in friends,” Malfoy sighed dramatically, but he was smiling now as well, his eyes shining in a way Harry had never seen before. “Fine, Potter. We are friends.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Harry stressed.

“True,” Malfoy chuckled. “Harry, then.”

  


“You really have to let him go, Draco,” his mother sighed, eyeing him warily through the mirror. “Obliviate him, and send him on his way. His friends will be searching for him. I am astonished there is nothing in the papers about a disappearance yet. And the Ministry knows he was investigating your case, too.”

“I will think of something,” Draco said airily. “Maybe I will ask Harry to send a letter or something.”

“‘ _Harry’_?,” his mother asked, looking appalled.

“That’s his name,” Draco answered irritably. 

“Don’t take that tone with me!,” she warned. “I am only looking out for you. You are too trusting.”

“Harry _wants_ to help me, Mother!,” Draco explained, knowing she wouldn’t believe him. “He is not my captive! We are friends now. He said so himself.”

“And you believe him?,” she asked, her tone dripping of sarcasm.

“Actually, I do,” Draco replied, his eyes narrowing. 

Draco got no answer to that; his mother just kept looking at him in that same, disbelieving expression. 

“You don’t know him like I do!,” Draco snapped finally. “You have no say in this.”

“You think he will fall in love with you,” she said, dread in her voice. “You want him to.”

“I do _not_ think that!,” Draco called, but he could feel the heat climbing to his face. “I am not stupid. He is straight.”

“But you aren’t,” she pointed out quietly. 

Draco choked on his protests, horrified. He hadn’t thought that she knew. He had been so careful in front of them… 

“Draco,” she sighed, obviously reading his inner tumult in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Stop talking about stuff you don’t understand!,” Draco called, his voice trembling slightly. “I am done discussing this! I am doing this _my_ way, because without you and Father’s interference, I wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place!”

“Draco,” she began, but cut herself off when the surface of the mirror started to crack. 

“Goodnight, Mother,” Draco said stiffly, turning his back to her reflection. Only when he was sure that she was gone, he turned to repair the damage on the mirror. 

His emotions hadn’t run so high since Harry had arrived, Draco realized. With a sigh, he let himself fall into his bed, staring at the ceiling in silence.

  


“Good morning, Draco,” Harry said briskly as he sat down at the breakfast table the following morning. He saw a small smile grace Draco’s lips at the sound of his own first name from Harry’s mouth.

“Good morning to you, too,” he replied, scanning his face. “Someone is in a good mood.”

“Let’s say I’m motivated,” Harry nodded, scooping some eggs onto his plate. “I have some ideas, and I want us to try them later.”

“Oh, really?,” Draco blinked, obviously surprised. “Why the sudden rush of inspiration?”

“I read some more last night,” Harry lied, ending the subject by shoving food into his mouth. 

The truth was that another letter from Hermione had arrived last night. She and Ron had played some connections and searched the Ministry archives, and she had sent him a list of spells he might try to revert Draco’s curse. It was the closest Harry had come to any kind of solution since he had arrived here, and he was excited to actually be _doing_ something instead of just staring at books all day. 

Draco was still watching him with his eyebrows raised, but Harry just kept on eating, not meeting his gaze.

  


“I can’t believe it,” Harry groaned, staring at the list of spells. Not a single one of them had even shown the slightest effect on Draco. “What kind of maniac cursed you, and what did they do, because _damn it_!”

Draco just sat opposite of him, looking at him silently. He had seemed dubious from the start, which, Harry thought irritably, probably had to do with the fact that he _knew_ what would break the curse, but couldn’t tell Harry about it. 

“This is frustrating,” Harry groaned, crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room. It bounced off on the opposite wall, and caught the pendulum of the Clock, which yelped at the loud gonging sound it caused. “How am I supposed to break this curse if I don’t know anything about it?!”

Draco was biting his lip, still watching Harry as he slumped further into the armchair. 

Finally, Draco reached out his hand, holding it out, palm up, for Harry to take it. 

“Come on,” he said.

“What?,” Harry frowned. 

Draco didn’t elaborate, but Harry took Draco’s hand anyways, letting the other pull him out of the arm chair, and the room. 

Draco’s hand was warm in Harry’s, and it distracted Harry enough that he lost track of where they were going. He only perked up when he found himself at the door to Draco’s room.

“ _Unauthorized person!,”_ a deep voice called, and Harry looked over Draco’s shoulder to frown at the Foot Mat shimmying excitedly on the floor. _“Master said-”_

“I am _here_!,” Draco interrupted him indignantly. “I am _letting_ him into my room, so cut it out!” 

“... Oh,” the Mat said quietly, growing still. 

With a roll of his eyes, Draco finally pushed the door open.

It was not the first time Harry had been in Draco’s room, of course, but Draco didn’t know that, so he made sure to take a careful look around, pretending to see everything for the first time. His eyes landed on the rose last, mustering the fallen petals on the window sill. They had increased in number, were now more than Harry could count at one glance. 

“What is that?,” Harry asked finally, catching Draco’s gaze. The other just met his gaze silently, as if trying to communicate through his eyes alone. “Is this where the curse manifests? This rose?”

Of course, Draco could not respond, but it didn’t matter anyways. Harry had figured that much from the conversation he had overheard between Draco and Narcissa. 

“Can I see it?,” Harry frowned, looking back towards the rose. “Without the glass case, I mean.”

Draco was biting his lip and mustering the rose worriedly, but finally, he nodded. 

“Please don’t touch it, though,” he said softly. “I don’t know-” 

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Harry understood anyways. _I don’t know what will happen if it gets damaged._

Draco took out his wand, and with a murmured spell, he levitated the case into the air. 

Harry stepped closer, reaching out his flat palm without touching. The magical aura around the rose was clearly noticeable now with the glass case removed. Harry wondered if Draco had put any defensive spells onto the case to protect the rose from the outside world, which would explain why Harry hadn’t felt anything before. 

He used a diagnostic spell he had learned in Auror training on the rose, but it came up flat. Harry was not surprised. It was designed to search for common dark spells, and he was pretty sure that the Ministry had not been faced with anything like this before. 

He cast a second spell, which was used to identify dark magic in general, and at least that one hit all right. Not that it helped Harry much.

At last, he tried some of the spells Hermione had given him on the rose, but he didn’t really expect them to have any effect. If they hadn’t caught on Draco, they wouldn’t here, either. 

Frustrated, Harry turned back to Draco, who was still watching him silently.

“This is beyond my abilities, Draco,” Harry said finally. “This is a case for the Unspeakables. I am not a trained Curse Breaker. If I could contact anyone for help…”  
“Don’t leave!,” Draco said quietly, and Harry saw real fear in his eyes. It clawed at his heart in a painful way. 

“I don’t want to!,” Harry ensured him. “But I also want to find a way to free you, and I know that I cannot do it. Not like this, with the little information I have. I need some help here, Draco!”

Draco gulped, and finally, his eyes wandered to the mirror on the other side of the room.

“Draco?,” Harry asked gently.

“This is a charmed mirror,” Draco said quietly. “It has a twin, which is placed in Mother’s study. I can communicate with her through it.”

It took a few moments, but finally, Harry understood what Draco was telling him.

“You will let me speak to her?,” Harry whispered, almost incredulous. “You will let her give me the information I need?”

“It’s the only way,” Draco murmured, balling his hand to a fist. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Without thinking, Harry reached out, his own fingers closing around Draco’s fist, squeezing in a comforting gesture.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “I know this is a huge trust you’re putting in me.”

Draco didn’t answer, but his fingers relaxed and shyly entwined with Harry’s. 

  


It turned out that Narcissa was out for the day. 

“Mistress is being at a charity event,” Minnie informed him after she had enquired with the other house-elves at the Manor. “She won’t be being back until tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said quickly, catching Draco’s eyes. “We will wait.”

Draco nodded and sat down on the bed with a sigh. After a moment of hesitation, Harry sat next to him. 

“You think your mother will tell me what I need to know?,” he asked finally, mustering Draco’s profile. His eyes caught on a patch of fur just below his ear. It looked so soft that Harry’s fingers ached to run over it. He quickly averted his eyes. He doubted Draco would react kindly to being treated like a pet. 

“I don’t think she will be pleased with the idea,” Draco admitted quietly. “She doesn’t trust you. But I have my ways of convincing her.”

“She loves you very much,” Harry agreed, remembering how Narcissa Malfoy had lied to Voldemort only to get to her son. 

“I know she does,” Draco sighed. “I just wished she would listen a little more to me and a little less to Father.”

“You don’t really get along with your father anymore, do you?,” Harry asked carefully. 

“What makes you think I ever did?,” Draco replied.

“All those _‘My father will hear about this’_ gave me an idea,” Harry smirked. 

“Ha ha,” Draco said dryly. “I _admired_ and _respected_ my father. That doesn’t mean we were particularly close.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Harry frowned. 

“A lot of people admired the Dark Lord,” Draco said with a grave expression. “Do you think he was _close_ , in the traditional sense, to any of them?”

“You are comparing your father to Voldemort?,” Harry asked, eyes wide. 

“Not exactly,” Draco replied, grimacing at the name. “But the principle is the same. Father had my life planned out completely. He wanted the perfect son, and a fitting heir to the Malfoy name. And as long as I played along, I was the treasured child. When I disappointed, though, I would feel his anger.”

Harry was silent for a moment, contemplating the things Draco was implying.

“I always thought you had the perfect childhood,” he admitted. “Parents who doted on you, and spoiled you rotten, and all that.”

“Funny,” Draco chuckled. “I used to think the same thing about you. Well, apart from the ‘parents’ bit. But, you know. Golden Boy and all.”

“Well, you couldn’t have been more wrong with that,” Harry said mildly.

“I know that now,” Draco nodded, letting himself fall back onto the mattress with a sigh. He stared straight up at the ceiling as he continued: “I can also see why my childhood must have seemed almost like a fairy tale to someone who grew up in a cupboard of a Muggle household.”

“And _I_ can see now how it wasn’t” Harry admitted. “The pressure of having pureblood elitists as parents must have been immense.” 

“I feel like I never got a chance to think for myself,” Draco said softly. “At least not until the war was over. And now that I do, I get cursed and am stuck in a hidden castle where no one can ever find me.”

“I found you,” Harry reminded him. 

“You did,” Draco smiled, looking up at him. “Curious, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Harry shrugged. “I was always good at that.”

“Finding people?,” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” Harry pursed his lips. “Finding _you_.”

Draco didn’t answer to that, but the intensity of his gaze felt like it burned right through Harry.

  


They spent the whole day spread out on Draco’s bed, just talking. It was the longest, and most honest conversation they had ever had, ranging from parents and childhood memories to the war to their hopes for the future.

Harry couldn’t remember when he’d last been this open to someone. Of course, he talked to Ron and Hermione all the time, but there were things he always held back, unsure of how to put them into words and whether his friends would understand them. 

Somehow, with Draco, he didn’t worry about that. Telling him what was on his mind was ridiculously easy. Maybe it was because he did not expect Draco to understand - they would disagree, and discuss, and then come to see the point the other one was making in the process of their conversation. It was refreshing, and made Harry contemplate his own reasoning more than any conversation with Ron or Hermione had ever done. 

“You know,” Harry said, his fingers running absentmindedly over the soft, furry palm of Draco’s hand, which was stretched out towards him over the mattress. He was not sure when he had started touching Draco, but it felt nice and he didn’t want to stop. “I actually think we might have been good friends at Hogwarts, if not for, you know, everything.”

“If not for me being a spoiled brat trying to impress his Death Eater father and you being the Boy Wonder of the Wizarding World?,” Draco enquired, his tone slightly teasing. 

“Exactly,” Harry chuckled.

“You still never would have wanted to be my friend,” Draco huffed. “I could have offered you my hand a thousand times and you wouldn’t have shaken it.”

“You’ll never get over that, will you?,” Harry laughed. “Was I the first one to ever reject your approach?” When Draco didn’t answer, Harry mock-gasped. “I really was, wasn’t I?”

“Shut up, you!,” Draco returned mildly. “That’s a sore spot with me.”

“Not going to apologize,” Harry shrugged, highly amused. “Your huge ego needed the trimming.”

“You surely managed to win my attention for the rest of our school days with that move,” Draco said airily, and though Harry tried, he could not read the expression on his face. “And even longer than that, it seems.”

“Well, you made sure I never forgot about you, either,” Harry commented, his tone light. “So I guess we’re even on that.”

Draco murmured something that sounded to Harry like ‘If only we were,’, but he couldn’t be sure.

“What was that?,” he asked.

“Nothing,” Draco smiled, and swiftly changed the subject. 

  


A couple of hours into their conversation, when Draco had long lost track of time, Harry had dozed off, resting his head comfortably on Draco’s pillow. For a while, Draco just watched his peaceful face in the dim light of his bedside lamp, content with being allowed that much. 

Even if Harry never managed to break the curse, Draco thought, maybe just being his friend and being allowed this close to him, just this would be enough in exchange. He felt much more alive now than he had at any point in the past three years. 

He probably should wake Harry, he thought, and ask him to go back to his own room, but Harry’s even breathing made him feel sleepy in return, and he didn’t want to move. He clumsily fumbled for his wand and flicked it to turn off the light, before letting his own eyes fall closed.

  


“DRACO!”

A high-pitched voice woke Harry from his peaceful sleep. Harry was used to being woken rudely by the Wardrobe in his room, but this was a different voice, and when Harry felt something shift on the mattress next to him, he blinked his eyes open, realizing quickly that he was not in his own room. He must have fallen asleep on Draco’s bed last night.

“DRACO! Where are you?! I need to talk to you immediately!”

“What the-,” Draco murmured sleepily, scrambling up into a sitting position. “Mother?”

“Draco! Thank god…,” the voice, which Harry now recognized as Narcissa Malfoy’s, did not sound the slightest bit relieved despite Draco’s answer. 

Draco swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet rather clumsily for someone who always moved so gracefully. Harry had to bite down on a smile.

“What happened?,” he asked finally when he had crossed the distance to the mirror.

“You are in the Daily Prophet!,” Harry heard Narcissa say, but his mind was still fuzzy from sleep and the words needed a few moments to register with Harry. “I had a copy sent to you, it should arrive any moment!”

“I… what?,” Draco asked in confusion.

“I _told_ you that it was unwise to trust the Potter boy!,” Narcissa called, and at that, Harry finally sat up, staring at Draco in alarm. He could only see his profile, but he looked positively frozen in shock. 

“Harry didn’t do anything,” Draco said quietly. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Mother.”

“How would the Daily Prophet know about the curse if not for him?!,”she challenged, and Harry’s heart sank down to his stomach.

Draco threw a short look at him. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, too short for Harry to read the expression in them.

“I-,” Draco began, but in that moment, Minnie appeared in the room, the Quill standing straight on her shoulder, his feather fluffed up importantly. Minnie held a rolled up newspaper in her hand.

“Master Draco,” she said shakily, holding the newspaper out to him. 

“It just came by owl from the Manor, Master,” the Quill informed him, but Draco did not even look at him, his eyes fixed on the paper. 

He took it with trembling fingers, and Harry quickly got to his feet, eager to see for himself. He ignored Narcissa’s gasp as he finally appeared in her field of vision to stand at her son’s side, instead watching as Draco unrolled the paper to reveal the front page. 

A large family portray of the Malfoys, probably taken pre-war, judging both from Draco’s physical appearance and the unhaunted expression on his face, took in about a third of the page. The headline stood out drastically. _“The Malfoy Heir: Beast Within and Without?!”_

Harry saw Draco’s fingers clench around the paper, and he forced himself to read on, numb in shock. 

‘ _Draco Malfoy (18), only son of Lucius Malfoy (44) and therefore heir to the Malfoy fortune, himself an alleged Death Eater like his father, is said to have found himself in a curious condition. The details are currently unknown, but_ Daily Prophet _columnist Rita Skeeter has been able to reveal shocking news on the recent Hogwarts graduate, who has only just managed to escape Azkaban thanks to a merciful testament of his old school mate, the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter._

_As it seems, Malfoy has become victim to a special kind of curse._

“ _From what I could gather, it affects both his magic and his appearance,” our informant, who wants to stay anonymous, reports. “Simply said, he acts and looks like a beast. I imagine his condition to be similar to a werewolf’s, only without the influence of the lunar phases. His parents are keeping him locked up, or else he would present a danger to the Wizarding and Muggle Community alike.”_

_The caster of the curse is currently unknown, but it is not difficult to imagine his or her motives._

“ _The Malfoy’s have made themselves a lot of enemies over the duration of the war,” the informant states. “Their status in society is nowhere near where it used to be. It could have been everyone, really.”_

 _Attempts from_ Daily Prophet _side to receive a statement from the Malfoy family about their son’s whereabouts have been fruitless. Officially, Draco Malfoy is said to be in France in matters of his own betrothal, but he has never actually been sighted there._

“ _There have been investigations from Ministry-side for a while,” the informant explains. “Draco Malfoy seemed to have simply disappeared, and seeing that he is still on probation and is expected to testify in his fellow Death Eaters’ trials, this presents a bit of a problem, you see.”_

_Why then has Malfoy’s disappearance not been made public before?_

“ _An Auror was sent out to investigate Malfoy’s whereabouts - in secret, of course. When he finally found him, the sight he was faced with was gruesome.”_

 _Assumingly, it will now be responsibility of the Ministry to make sure the Malfoy heir will not cause harm to any more wizards or witches under the influence of the curse. Which measures they are going to take to insure everyone’s safety is hereby unknown._

  * _Read more about Draco Malfoy’s offenses during the war and voices from fellow Hogwarts graduates on Page 7_




Finally, Harry raised his gaze to look at Draco. The other boy was still staring at the newspaper, eyes wide in obvious fear.

“I didn’t do this,” Harry said quietly. “You know I wouldn’t, Draco!”

“Of course he is lying!,” Narcissa called. “No one but us knows about your condition! Plus, this article points towards a Ministry insider!”

“I didn’t do it!,” Harry protested hotly. “After everything Rita Skeeter has written about me all these years, I’d be damned before I sell anyone out to her!”

“Then please tell me who _you_ think it was?!,” she challenged. “Who else could have-”

“Enough, Mother!,” Draco called, and his voice was so loud that Harry instinctively jerked away from him. He gaped at Draco as the other crumpled the paper in his violently trembling hands. The other boy took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was back to normal, and almost calm. “Harry says he didn’t do it, and I believe him.”

“Then tell me who did it, Draco?,” his mother demanded angrily. “I know you want to believe in him, but by Salazar, _think_ about it!”

Finally, Draco raised his head to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“You didn’t tell anyone, right?,” Draco checked.

Harry’s heart sank. He lowered his gaze, trying to find the strength to lie, but somehow, he couldn’t make himself. 

“Harry?,” Draco asked gently.

There was a long silence between them. Harry knew that a shake of his head would suffice - Draco would not question him, because as Narcissa had said, he _wanted_ to believe in Harry. 

But that knowledge was what made it impossible to lie. 

“You _promised_ ,” Draco whispered, and when Harry looked up, he saw that his silence had been enough of an answer. The seed of doubt had reached the grey orbs staring back at him. 

“It was just Hermione and Ron,” Harry said pleadingly. “And I swear they wouldn’t tell a soul!”

“You told _Granger_ and _Weasley_?!,” Draco called, and the windowpane exploded. Harry shielded his face from the glass. “They _hate_ me, Harry!”

“They would never have done this!,” Harry shook his head. “I asked them to keep quiet, Draco, and I would trust them with my life! They didn’t-”

“You _promised_ me not to tell anyone!,” Draco yelled, and the glass case around the enchanted rose exploded, too. Minnie, whose presence Harry had completely forgotten, squeaked and hid behind the bed, the Quill jumping after her. 

“I - If I hadn’t told them, they’d have worried and sent the Ministry after me!,” Harry explained. “Or they’d have come themselves - I needed to…”

“You needed to spill all my secrets to them?!”

“No,” Harry shook his head, his voice trembling. “But you know how smart Hermione is, and I knew that, if anyone could help-”

“Do you think I’m stupid?!,” Draco called. “So you’ve been owling back and forth, laughing about that prick Malfoy and his little problem-”

“No!,” Harry called desperately. “I wouldn’t have! I wanted to help you, Draco! Please, believe me!”

“I _did_ believe you!,” Draco returned, and now his voice sounded strained. Horrified, Harry noticed moisture in his eyes. “I must have been stupid. Mother told me you’d betray me, and I didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t betray you, Draco!,” Harry protested. “I just-”

“You lied!” Draco called, and the mirror glass cracked violently, making Narcissa retreat with wide eyes. 

“I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere alone!,” Harry murmured. “I needed help, and-” But he could tell that Draco wasn’t listening to him. Instead, he could feel the stone ground vibrating under his feet. “Draco…,” he whispered.

“ _Out!,”_ Draco called, his voice so loud that it hurt Harry’s ears. Before he knew it, the ground seemed to raise itself and fling him towards the door. He hit it with such force that he broke through it, landing sprawled on the Foot Mat in front of Draco’s room.

“Out!,” it repeated, and flung Harry down the stairs. Before he could collide with the ground, though, he was caught in what seemed to be an oversized chest. He hit his head against its wooden wall, and felt disoriented for a moment.

“Out!,” various voices cheered now, and Harry blinked, catching sight of the Candelabra, the Tea Set and the Pendulum Clock standing on the edge of the chest, looking down at him. He felt the chest moving, and before he knew it, he was flung out of the front doors, landing painfully on the doorstep. 

“I am sorry, Harry Potter, Sir,” he heard Minnie say sadly, but before he could even open his eyes to look at her, there was a plopping sound, and he felt like he was sucked into thin air.

Next thing he knew, he found himself sprawled out on wet sand. He sat up hastily, looking around. He found himself back at the beach of Mount’s Bay. The Castle of St. Michael was nowhere in sight.

“No,” Harry whispered, horrified. He had half a mind to jump up and try to run back up the path that seemed to lead directly into the sea, but he knew it would be no use. 

He had been thrown out, and he doubted Draco would allow him back inside.

With a low groan, he let himself fall back onto the sand, staring up at the cloudy sky. His eyes were stinging, and he tried to tell himself that it was just from the salty wind. 

  


When Harry apparated back into the apartment he shared with Ron, he could immediately hear loud voices from the kitchen.

“ _-but who would-”_

“ _I don’t know, Hermione, but someone must have-”_

“ _I hope Harry is alright!”_

“ _I still think we should go after him! Who knows what Malfoy will do to him now that-”_

“ _We cannot just turn up there! He’ll know that Harry lied to him if we do!”_

“ _Well, he already does, doesn’t he?! We messed up, Hermione!”_

Harry felt like he was going to be sick. He made a step towards the nearest armchair, but bumped into the table and sent one of the glasses on top of it crashing to the ground. It broke into pieces.

The flying shards of glass brought back the memory of Draco’s watery grey eyes.

The kitchen door opened, and Harry looked up to see Hermione in the doorway. 

“Harry!,” she breathed. “Oh my god, Harry, we’re so sorry!”

Without a word, Harry let himself sink into the armchair. Ron had turned up behind Hermione, looking pale.

“Someone must have overheard us when we were searching the Ministry Archives,” Hermione explained, sounding tearful. “We should have been more careful! I’m so sorry, Harry!”

Harry couldn’t even bring himself to be angry with them. He just felt numb.

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” he only said, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

“What happened?,” Ron asked. 

“He threw me out,” Harry murmured, gulping against the lump in his throat. Ron cursed.

“But it wasn’t your fault!,” he returned. 

“I told _you_ , even though I promised to stay quiet,” Harry shrugged.

“Well, what did he expect you to do?!,” Ron demanded. “Just leave us in the dark and disappear?!”

“He’s not thinking that far, Ron,” Harry shook his head. “He is scared and vulnerable, and I lied to him, just when he had learned to trust me.”

“Prick,” Ron murmured. 

“Stop!,” Harry snapped, and Ron’s eyes widened. “This is not his fault! _I_ messed this one up!”

Both Ron and Hermione gaped at him silently, and Harry hung his head, unable to look at them.

“I just wanted to help him,” he whispered. “And now I made everything worse instead.”

He heard tentative footsteps, and finally, Hermione kneeled in front of him, taking his hands into hers and squeezing.

“You really do care about him, don’t you?,” she asked, her voice soft. “This is not mere curiosity or the need to save everyone. This is about Malfoy himself.”

Harry took a shaky breath, trying hard to put what he was feeling into words, and failing.

“We’ve both been wrong about each other,” he ended up saying. “He is not like I thought he was, and in those past few days… I cannot explain it. But he doesn’t deserve this.”

Hermione squeezed his hands once more, fresh tears in her eyes.

“He was going to ask his mother to tell me all she knew,” he said softly. “He trusted me that much. And I messed it up. I just wanted to _help_ ,” he repeated, his voice cracking at the last word.

“Well, you still can,” Ron said finally, making him look up. “Let’s go to the Manor right now. We can explain.”

“You really think Narcissa Malfoy will listen to me now?!,” Harry scoffed.

“You can still try,” Hermione agreed with Ron. “If you make her understand that you really care about Draco… She is his mother and she loves him. She wants his best.”

Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione, both of their faces determined.

“You’re serious about this?,” he asked softly.

“Of course, mate,” Ron frowned. “This is important to you, and _we_ messed it up. Now we have to set it right again.”

Hermione smiled at him tentatively, and Harry found himself returning her smile.

  


  


  


“I don’t know what you think you are doing here,” Narcissa Malfoy hissed as she entered the drawing room the house-elf had led them into. Harry had been surprised to even be allowed entrance to the Manor upon their arrival, but when the nervous elf addressed him and Ron with “Aurors Potter and Weasley”, he realized that they probably didn’t have much of a choice. The whole Malfoy family was still on probation, after all, and they were Ministry workers. “But I suggest that you all leave before my husband is alerted of your presence and lands himself in Azkaban for cursing you!”

“Please, Mrs Malfoy!,” Harry pleaded. “Please listen to me.”

“My son listened to you,” she reminded him coldly. “Look where that got him.”

“It was our fault, Mrs Malfoy!,” Hermione spoke up. Sharp grey eyes, so much like Draco’s, rested on Hermione, but instead of backing down, she continued briskly: “We wanted to help Harry, and used the Ministry Archives for research. Someone must have overheard us.”

“What a convenient excuse,” she sniffed.

“It’s no excuse!,” Ron returned hotly. “You know I’ve never held much stack on your git of a son, but apparently Harry does, and he was just trying to help! If you want to blame anyone, blame us, not him!”

“You think it makes a difference to me who of you betrayed Draco?!,” she scoffed. “It’s all the same to me. He trusted Mr Potter, and he ended up hurt. I am not going to let you hurt him again.”

“I don’t want to hurt him!,” Harry called. “I want to help him, and for that, you need to tell me what you know about the curse!”

Narcissa eyes rested on him. She raised one eyebrow in an expression so reminiscent of her son that it hurt deep in his chest to have it directed at him.

“You really have some nerve,” was all she said. 

“You _know_ something!,” Harry called. “I know you do! Why are you withholding information from me when it could help me save your son?!”

“You already know too much!,” she snapped. “You really think I will offer you the rest of the information on a silver tablet to spill to the Prophet, too?!”

“I didn’t sell him out!,” Harry shouted, getting desperate. “All I wanted was to _help_ him! I care what happens to him, whether you believe me or not!”

“I don’t,” Narcissa pointed out.

“We don’t have time for this!,” Harry groaned. “As we speak, the rose keeps losing more petals, and Draco loses all chance of becoming himself again! Do you _want_ that to happen?!”

“Of course not!,” she called, her eyes blazing in anger, but Harry did not allow himself to be intimidated by her.

“Well, locking him up and hiding him is not going to solve the problem!,” Harry snapped. “I understand why you don’t trust me, but Merlin, we need to do something quickly, and I cannot do anything if you keep information from me! And you clearly haven’t found a ready way to break the curse either, or you would have long used it! So cooperating with us is the best chance Draco has right now!”

Narcissa had pressed her lips into a firm, angry line throughout Harry’s words, but for the first time today, she had nothing to return, it seemed.

“Please,” Harry begged, his voice softer now. “Give me something to work with. A name. An incantation. Anything.”

There was a long silence between them, and Harry felt like he was going to come apart under it. He was fishing for anything else to say when finally, Narcissa unclenched her jaw and spoke.

“Ayana D'Isigny,” she said quietly. “She cursed Draco when he refused to marry her daughter Rose.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course. Why had he not figured that one out sooner?

“What kind of curse did she use?,” he prodded. “Was it anything you were able to identify?”

“No,” she shook her head. “The origin of the curse seems to be African. We didn’t understand any of it.”

“Then I’ll just have to go ask her myself,” Harry said grimly. “Let’s see if her grudge is strong enough to cross ways with the British Ministry.”

“Do you have any other information on the curse?,” Hermione asked finally, speaking up for the first time since Narcissa had arrived. “Anything at all that might help us?”

Narcissa rose both eyebrows this time, watching Hermione intently.

“No,” she said simply, and Harry knew with perfect clarity that she was lying, as well as that no matter how much they’d push, she was not going to reveal whatever she was holding back from them.

So all Harry did was get up and thank her for the cooperation she had offered, despite feeling both Ron and Hermione’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

  


“She was _lying_!,” Ron called, outraged.

“I know she was!,” Harry snapped impatiently as they hurried down the corridors of the Ministry. “But she wouldn’t have given away whatever she was hiding, and I don’t have the time to grill her! I need to go see Ayana D'Isigny to find out something actually useful!”

“You really think it’s a good idea to just turn up at their doorstep, Harry?,” Hermione asked worriedly as they turned around the corner towards the elevators. “She cursed a Malfoy, who knows what else she is-”

“I don’t care!,” Harry cut her off, angrily pushing the button for the doors to open, only partly relieved when they did. “I don’t care if she could pose any danger to me, I just have to try! Don’t you get it? There is no time! I don’t know how long it will take me to break the curse even if I get any information from them, so I have to act as quickly as possible! I have no time to think about the risks!”

“You never do,” Hermione sighed, sounding resigned as she watched the doors of the elevator slide closed. “Especially not when it comes to Malfoy.”  
“You don’t understand!,” Harry groaned, holding onto the rail at his side as they started moving.

“I don’t think you do, either,” she said gravely. 

Harry was about to snap back, but in that moment, the elevator came to a hold. 

“ _Level 6, Department of Magical Transportation.”_

“Finally,” Harry murmured, storming out of the doors as they opened, not caring if Ron and Hermione caught up with him or not.

The front desk of the department was occupied by only one person today, and to Harry’s luck, it was exactly the wrong one. 

“Harry!,” Romilda Vane called in delight as he approached, entirely unaware of his weariness at her sight. “I am so glad to see you back here!”

“Hi Romilda,” Harry sighed, a slight headache pounding against his temples only from looking at her. “Listen, I need your help. I need a portkey to France as soon as possible.”

“You’re leaving again?,” she asked, pouting in disappointment. “But you just came back!”

Harry balled his hand into a fist, calling on all his patience. Ever since Romilda had joined the Ministry this summer, it seemed like she had made it her mission to make Harry’s job as difficult as possible. Whenever he crossed paths with her, he was delayed by her attempts on flirtation, and he swore that, if he wasn’t an Auror and his colleagues were sure to pursue her for it, she would have tried slipping him Love Potions as if he was still in his sixth year. 

Thankfully, before he could return anything, though, Ron was at his side, staring her down in his best Auror manner.

“Harry is on an urgent mission, Romilda. There is no time for chatter. The portkey, please.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighed, reaching for the necessary documents, but Ron took them out of her hands before she could hand them to Harry. 

“ _I’ll_ fill them out,” he said firmly. “Just prepare the portkey.”

“Where to?,” she asked, pursing her lips. 

“The D'Isigny residence,” Harry returned.

Her eyes widened, and she stared at Harry in shock.

“You heard him,” Ron snapped impatiently, looking up from the documents in front of him. 

“But…,” she murmured, gulping. “But I thought, now that it’s public, they wouldn’t send you after Malfoy anymore. I thought you could come back.”

Harry stared at her, and finally, the Knut dropped. 

“It was you,” he whispered. “You sold Draco out to Rita Skeeter.”

The reaction to his words was immediate: Her face colored to an ugly purple color, and she looked down, her hands fumbling with her robe nervously.

“A Portkey to the D'Isigny residence,” she said, her voice high pitched and trembling. “One moment, I will prepare it.”

Harry stared after her incredulously. 

“These women are barking, Harry,” Ron murmured, shaking his head in disgust. “I mean-,” he shot a nervous look at Hermione, who was staring him down, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Not you, of course. Sweetheart. You are-”

“Oh, don’t even try,” she snapped, shaking her head. 

Under normal circumstances, the bickering of his best friends might have amused Harry, but at the moment, he couldn’t appreciate their presence. His hands were sweating and he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, restless and impatient. He tried to recall the state of the enchanted rose from when he had last seen it this morning. How many petals did it have left? How much time did the curse give him?

And even if he somehow managed to break the curse… Would Draco ever forgive him for his betrayal? Harry felt hollow at the prospect of being hated by Draco forever. It shouldn’t hurt this much, he reminded himself - Draco had _always_ hated him, after all. But something had changed in these past four days, and things had been reset between them. He had learned to appreciate Draco’s unexpected kindness and sharp wit, the gentle shyness he tended to hide behind the facade his upbringing had given him, and his unique way of expressing himself. They looked at the world differently, and yet, somehow, they saw eye to eye whenever they sat down to really listen to one another. 

Harry didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose Draco. 

“Harry?,” Hermione’s soft voice tore him out of his thoughts, making him look up at her. She was standing on his other side now, watching his face in worry. Harry hadn’t noticed her moving towards him. “Are you alright?”

Harry didn’t know what to answer. He could see from the corner of his eyes that Ron appeared to be immersed in the paper work, but he was too still to not be listening. 

Just as he steeled himself to meet Hermione’s eyes again, Romilda returned, her cheeks still spotting a dark pink color.

“Your portkey is waiting for you in Room three, Harry. It will leave at exactly four o’clock, so you have twelve minutes.”

Harry nodded, straightening up. He looked at Ron, who gave him a grim nod, and turned to Hermione when her fingers closed around his wrist.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come along?,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I’ll be fine, Hermione!,”

“If you say so,” she sighed, her fingers squeezing once, making Harry smile weakly. “Watch out for yourself, and don’t do anything reckless!”

“He’s a trained Auror, Hermione,” Ron grinned.

“That doesn’t make him less emotional and intuitive,” Hermione snorted, but a small smile played on her lips now as well. “And Malfoy is involved, so his logical thinking has jumped off the broom about two weeks ago.”

Harry rolled his eyes, not dignifying that comment with a response. 

“I should leave, or I’ll miss the portkey. I’ll be in touch.”

“If I haven’t heard anything from you by six, I’ll alert the French Ministry,” Ron said casually, grinning at him. “You are a national treasure, after all.”

“Ha ha,” Harry murmured drily as he pried Hermione’s fingers off his wrist and took a step back. “Talk to you later!,”

He could see Hermione biting down on more lectures, so he quickly turned to walk down the corridor, searching for Room Three. The premises belonging to the Department of Magical Transportation were temperamental to say the very least - Harry not-so-fondly remembered one incident towards the beginning of his Auror training when he had found himself transported to New Guinea instead of Manchester. 

He had a short moment of confusion after Room Two had turned into Room Five right in front of his eyes, but he finally ended up locating Room Three at the end of the hall, quickly entering before it decided to change its location as well. 

The room was furnitured in a rose-colored theme that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Dolores Umbridge. He absentmindedly rubbed at the scars on his left hand as he sat down on the cushioned sofa across the room, staring at the functional leather bracelet on the table, which spotted the words _‘Property of the Ministry of Magic, UK’_. There was a manual placed next to it, explaining the method of activation for the return trip to the Ministry. Harry did not read it. He had traveled with Ministry portkeys often enough to know exactly what to do. 

A quick look at the clock hanging on the opposite wall told him that he had two minutes. He picked up the bracelet and fastened it around his wrist before leaning back against the back of the couch, staring into space. Without missing a beat, his mind conjured the vivid memory of the hurt expression on Draco’s face, as if it felt the need to remind him as soon as his thoughts weren’t occupied elseway. 

When Harry felt the familiar tug in his guts indicating the activation of the portkey, Harry was almost thankful for the excuse to focus again. 

The portkey dropped him off in front of the gates of a large residence. The size was comparable to the Malfoy Manor, Harry noted, but the coloring was very different, light, classy colors where the other was dark and intimidating. The wide gardens were neatly trimmed and carried brightly colored red roses everywhere he looked, each identical to the enchanted one up in Draco’s room. Harry gritted his teeth. 

Before he had a chance to step towards the front gates, they opened by themselves, revealing a small house-elf clad in a white linen towel bearing the seal of the D'Isigny Family. 

The elf spoke to him in French, and Harry stared at it in confusion.

“Um, sorry, I do not speak French,” he answered tentatively, but the elf only blinked at him with wide eyes. Finally, Harry rummaged through his pockets until he found his Ministry ID.

“I am Harry Potter, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, British Ministry of Magic,” he said clearly, holding up his identification for the elf to see. “I am here to speak to Mrs Ayana D'Isigny in matters of Draco Malfoy.”

There was a short silence in which the elf mustered him in alarm, before it disappeared with a loud popping sound. For a moment, Harry wondered if they were going to refuse him entrance, but then a different elf appeared where the other one had stood, bowing deeply.

“Monsieur Potter,” it greeted him. “If Monsieur wood pleez follow Berniot?”

Harry nodded, tentatively trailing after the elf. 

The walk through the gardens and the house set Harry’s nerves on edge. He had never been a very patient person, and it was all he could do not to snap at the elf when it showed him to a parlor on the first floor and asked him in stilting English if he wanted tea.

It took another ten minutes, in which Harry had started pacing through the room, until the doors finally opened. Harry froze, staring as an unequal couple entered the room: Mr. D'Isigny was noticeably shorter and older than his wife, and reminded Harry unfavorably of his Uncle Vernon. His wife was a middle-aged beauty in elegant robes, her dark eyes focused sharply on Harry. 

“Monsieur Potter,” Mr D'Isigny called amicably, smiling brightly at him. “We ‘ave ‘eard so much about you! To what do we owe ze pleasure?”

Harry took a deep breath and clutched his Ministry ID in his fist before stepping forward.

“I’m here in the name of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I am investigating the case of Draco Malfoy.”

The look of surprise on Mr D'Isigny’s face was almost convincing. “I am not sure what you are talking about, Monsieur Potter?”

“Oh, but you do,” Harry said darkly, meeting the eyes of Mrs D'Isigny straight on. “I know that you cursed him. You may have successfully shut Draco up, but his mother can still talk.”

The expression on Ayana D'Isigny’s face did not waver throughout Harry’s accusation. She just kept her sharp eyes on him, her gaze slightly unnerving. 

When Harry noticed that there was no answer forthcoming, he continued, with an edge to his tone: “I demand that you take the curse from him, or there will be legal consequences.”

“I cannot, and I will not,” she replied stiffly.

“Excuse me?,” Harry almost growled. 

“I cannot,” she repeated, a slight smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “Only ‘e can break it.”

“Tell me how,” Harry demanded.

“Zere is no need,” she shrugged. “‘e knows, and zat is enough.”

“I promised to help him!,” Harry hissed. His hands were clenched to fists by now, and it was all he could do to refrain from shouting.

Harry noticed her eyes travel to his hands for a moment, then taking in the tension in his shoulders before meeting his eyes with a new curiosity. 

“Could it be…?,” she murmured, chuckling quietly. “You care for ze boy.”

“So what if I do?,” Harry demanded after a moment of hesitation, his voice trembling. “He is not a bad person, no matter what you or the rest of the world might think of him.”

“Interesting,” she murmured, watching him as if he were the most fascinating magical creature to her. “Who would ‘ave zought?”

Harry was caught in a weird twist of frustration, desperation and anger. 

“Tell me what I can do to help him,” he repeated. “Anything. I will do it.”

“You are speaking to ze wrong person,” she repeated. “You will ‘ave to ask ‘im.”

“You know very well that he cannot answer me!,” Harry snapped.

“Oh, but ‘e can say other zings,” she smiled. “Ze most important zings, ‘e is free to say whenever ‘e wants.”

“I don’t know what that _means_!,” Harry groaned. “And we have no time for games! The rose is welting already, and I need to _do_ something, quickly!”

“‘e will know,” she shrugged, turning to leave. “Tell ‘im what I said, and ‘e will know…”

“Wait!,” Harry called, fear almost paralyzing him. “You cannot leave without giving me an answer! I am a Ministry Official, and if you won’t cooperate, I will-”

“Please feel free to alert ze French Ministry,” Mr. D'Isigny returned politely, inclining his head. “We will not stop you.”

Harry clenched his teeth. International cases were a lot of paperwork, and he knew that until he’d be able to establish a cooperation with a foreign Ministry, it would be far too late for Draco.

“Berniot will accompany you out,” he smiled, and with a slight bow, he followed his wife out of the room, leaving Harry alone with even more questions than he’d had before.

  


“I’m still saying we should go back to Malfoy Manor,” Ron announced stubbornly, watching Harry from across the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the counter. “They are refusing information to the Ministry while being on probation, after all! If we insist-”

“We don’t have the backup, Ron,” Harry sighed. “No one in the Ministry gives a damn about what happens to Draco, and if I were to make people pay attention to his condition and inform him of his whereabouts, they would just find a reason to lock him up. They’d say he is a danger to the public or something ridiculous along the lines of Rita Skeeter’s article.”

Ron grumbled something unintelligible, but fell silent. Hermione was pacing. 

“What exactly did she say again?,” she asked. “About what Draco can or can’t say?”

“I dunno,” Harry murmured, rubbing his eyes. He was tired but he didn’t think he could fall asleep if he tried. “She told me to ask Draco how to break the curse, and I returned that he can’t answer my questions thanks to her curse. And then she said that even if he can’t answer, he can say other things. The important things he can say anytime, or something like that.”

“‘ _The important things’_?,” she repeated, humming in thought. “What do you reckon that means?”

“I dunno, Hermione,” Harry sighed impatiently. “If I did, I’d sure as hell do something with that knowledge instead of sitting here.”

“It sounds like a lot of pompous nonsense to me,” Ron mused. 

“I don’t think it is,” Hermione frowned. “I think there is a clue hidden there. That Draco needs to say something, something specific, and that will help him break the curse. We just need to figure out what this _‘important thing’_ is.”

“And how do we do that?,” Harry demanded.

“She told you to ask him,” Hermione replied tentatively.

“Oh, sure,” Harry snapped. “I’ll just stroll over and ask then, shall I?!”

“If Malfoy knew what to say to break the curse, wouldn’t he have done so long ago?!,” Ron shrugged. “Why would he hold back?!”

“Maybe it’s something he cannot say easily,” Hermione argued. “The ‘important things’ are often difficult to admit, after all. Like uncomfortable truths, or hidden feelings.”

“You think Malfoy is stuck as a monster because he refuses to lay bare his innermost emotions?!,” Ron asked, clearly doubtful. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione murmured, biting her lip. “But he was cursed when he refused to marry her daughter, right? Maybe it has something to do with apologizing, or admitting to have been wrong.”

“Malfoy _would_ have trouble with that,” Ron rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Harry shook his head. “He is not as averse to admitting his mistakes as you think he is. We talked a lot when I was staying with him, and he voiced many regrets. If he knew it would get him out of this situation, he would apologize, I am sure of it. This is not about false pride.”

“Then what _is_ it about, Harry?,” Hermione sighed, looking at him. “You know him better than we do. What would be something important he cannot say?”

Harry tried to find an answer, but his mind seemed strangely blank. 

“You should rest, Harry,” Hermione suggested softly, sitting on the chair next to him and covering his hand with hers where it rested on the dining table next to his untouched dinner. “Maybe you’ll find some answers tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Harry murmured.

“You should still try, mate,” Ron frowned, siding with Hermione immediately. “No offense, but you look horrible.”

“Thank you.”

“I have some Dreamless Sleep Potion left over from my NEWTS,” Hermione said gently. “Madam Pomfrey gave it to me for my nerves. She gave me a lot more than I actually needed - maybe I looked that desperate to her, I don’t know. But anyways, I can give you some.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his palm over his face once more.

“Yes, okay,” he finally gave in. “Maybe you are right.” Though it was less the prospect of sleep that convinced him, and more the hope of getting rid of that fear clutching around his heart for at least a couple of hours.

  


When Harry awoke the next morning, he felt disoriented. It took him ridiculously long to realize that he was in his own bed, and to recall the events of the last day. When he did, he slumped back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. 

It was hard to believe that almost exactly 24 hours ago, he had woken in Draco’s bed, after having spent the night talking and sharing secrets, and now, he was here, as far from Draco as he could get, in a metaphorical sense. Harry pulled his blanket tighter around himself, feeling cold. The Dreamless Sleep Potion had kept his mind blissfully empty for the duration of the night, but now it was reeling with regrets and the desperate need to do something. Anything, really. He had never been good at sitting by and letting things happen, but he could not remember when he had last felt restless to this degree. Definitely not since the war. 

Harry only sat up when a loud, popping sound alerted him that he was not alone. He was already reaching for his wand to defend himself when he spotted Minnie standing at the side of his bed, trembling and nervously fingering the blue towel she was wearing instead of proper clothes. 

“Minnie?!,” Harry asked in surprise, making the tiny elf twitch and big, green eyes focus on him. “Minnie, what are you doing here?,” he prodded gently.

“Harry Potter Sir needs to be coming back to the castle,” Minnie whispered, her voice shaking. “Minnie is not supposed to be here, Sir, but Minnie needed to be coming. Minnie needed to be bringing Harry Potter, Sir. Master Draco is needing Harry Potter, Sir.”

“Did something happen to him?,” Harry murmured, alarmed.

“Master Draco is behaving strangely,” Minnie whispered, eyes wide with fear. “He cannot control his magic. Minnie cannot even clean his room. Minnie is not knowing what to do.”

“But Draco doesn’t want to see me, Minnie,” Harry reminded her softly, his throat tight with the effort of forcing the words out. “He threw me out, remember?”

“Oh, but Master Draco _does_ want to be seeing Harry Potter, Sir!” Minnie returned urgently. “Master cannot control his magic because Harry Potter is being gone, Sir! Master is being sad!”

Harry only barely resisted the urge to hug his knees to his chest and crouch in a pose of utter defeat from the pain those words caused him. 

“I want to help him,” Harry whispered, his voice unsteady. “But I don’t know how.”

“Harry Potter Sir can help Master!,” Minnie nodded. “Only Harry Potter can, Sir! Minnie knows!”

“You _know_ ,” Harry repeated, a small seed of hope planting in his chest. “Minnie, you know what I need to do to break the curse, don’t you?”

Minnie froze, as if just realizing her mistake. 

“Tell me, Minnie!,” Harry pleaded, swinging his legs over the side of his bed to face her properly, making the elf retreat in hasty steps. “You have to tell me!”

“Minnie cannot, Sir,” she shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Minnie, please!,” Harry called, emotions he couldn’t even name pouring out of him like a stream he couldn’t possibly stop. “All I want to do is help him, but I can’t do it if no one tells me how! Draco threw me out, you and his mother know what I can do but refuse to tell me, Ayana D'Isigny just enjoys watching me despair… Why won’t anyone let me help?!”

Minnie was crying openly now, sobs racking through her little body.

“I care about him, Minnie!,” Harry murmured, taking a deep breath in a fruitless attempt to reign himself in. “I really care about him.”

“Harry Potter Sir has to go and tell Master Draco,” she whimpered. “Master Draco does not know. He needs to know.”

Harry gulped, his heart drumming against his chest in excitement, as if it knew something Harry didn’t. 

“Do you think he’ll listen to me?,” Harry asked, his voice rough. “If I tell him that I’m sorry and that I care, will he allow me to help him?”

Minnie did not answer, but Harry did not need her to say the words. He knew deep down that she was right, and that he needed to go and set things right between them - if not for the curse or for Draco’s sake, than for his own.

“Give me one minute,” Harry sighed, catching Minnie’s eyes. “I’ll get dressed.”

The sob Minnie let slip this time was one of relief.

  


When Harry and Minnie appeared in the entrance hall of St. Michael’s together, half of the enchanted household was already gathered: The Tea Set was jumping and clinking away excitedly at his arrival, the Candelabra bowed deeply and expressed gratitude for his return, and the Pendulum Clock sent a prayer up to the heavens.

“Harry Potter, Sir!,” a familiar voice squealed, and Harry found himself sneezing from having his face full of dusty feather. “Thank Merlin you came! The Master has been horrible since you left! None of us dare to even go near his room!”

“Well, I am here now,” Harry replied, gently picking up the Quill and holding him at arm’s length, attempting a smile. “I will talk to him.”

“Be careful, Sir,” the Candelabra called, the flames of his candles flickering for a moment, as if in fear. “When the Feather Duster tried to enter last night… Let’s say it wasn’t pretty.”

“We didn’t even have time to pick up her feathers,” the Clock sniffed, and a loud ‘gong’ sounded from its Pendulum to mark his words. 

“I’m sure I will be fine,” Harry reassured them, trying to convince himself as much as them. “Draco wouldn’t hurt me intentionally.”

“Good luck, Sir,” the Tea Can said, bowing deeply, and the cups followed her example.

“Um. Thank you,” Harry returned, carefully stepping around them to follow Minnie up the stairs. 

The elf was obviously too terrified to speak as she led him up to Draco’s room, and Harry’s own nerves were lying bare. He had never been good with words, not like Draco was, anyway. How was he supposed to make himself understood? He knew that every word he said in front of him counted, and could be used against him by the Slytherin. He wished he had at least thought about what he wanted to express before coming. Maybe Hermione was right: Logic had never been his strong point when it came to Draco Malfoy. 

When they finally reached the door to Draco’s room, the Foot Mat started quivering on the ground. 

“Oh please, Minnie,” he begged. “Please don’t. I am going to be thrown across the corridor if I let you in.”

“Master Draco is needing to see Harry Potter Sir,” Minnie told the Mat firmly. “If Master is wanting to or not.”

With a dramatic sigh, the Foot Mat seemed to flatten itself to the ground, and then the door swung open. Minnie backed up against the wall and out of sight, her green eyes urging Harry on. With a deep breath, he made his feet move to enter.

The room was a shadow of what it had been when he had unceremoniously been ejected from it. Pieces of furniture were scattered everywhere. The mirror was broken and had been flung across the room. The bedding had been torn apart, and the wool was flying through the room, stirred by the wind blowing in from the broken windows. Even the glass case that had protected the enchanted rose had been smashed on the floor, leaving the rose bare and floating through the air, its petals scattered messily on the floor. Only a few petals were left, leaving the rose almost completely welted. 

Draco was cowering in a far corner of the room, between the remains of the bed and a cupboard. He seemed to be shivering from the cold, and Harry could feel goosebumps from the fresh wind on his own skin. 

“Draco,” Harry said softly, not sure if the other had noticed his presence. When there was still no reaction, he raised his voice. “Draco. Please listen to me. I am here to apologize.”

His only response was the sound of breaking glass, and Harry had just enough time to dodge the shards that were scattering from the windows. 

“ _Leave!_ ,” Draco’s voice sounded, loud and magically amplified. Harry had not seen Draco’s lips move. “ _Leave, or I am going to end up hurting you!_ ”

“I am not going to leave!,” Harry insisted. “Not until you listened to me!”

“ _Damnit, Potter!_ ” Draco roared, and finally, stormy grey eyes met his. Draco seemed broken, and looking at him made it hard for Harry to breathe. _“Don’t you get it?! I have lost control over my magic! There’s no telling what I’ll do if you stay!”_

“You won’t hurt me,” Harry said softly. “I know you, Draco. You never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Draco laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound. It was bitter and hollow. 

“Draco, I’m so sorry,” Harry began, tentatively taking a step forward. “I never meant to betray you. I swear I was sincere when I was trying to help. Things just spiralled out of control, and…,” he took a deep breath. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“ _What does it matter?,”_ Draco scoffed. His lips still weren’t moving. He appeared to be nothing more than a lifeless shell. _“It’s too late. Everyone knows, and I am going to be stuck in this body forever. It’s nothing less than I deserve.”_

“That’s not true, and you know it!,” Harry protested hotly. “Don’t you dare give up, Draco!”

“ _Look at it!,”_ Draco’s voice shouted at him, and the wind seemed to strengthen, sending fallen petals flying, encircling the dying rose. _“It’s over!”_

“It’s not!,” Harry insisted. “I made a promise, and I am going to see it through!”

“ _Like you promised not to tell anyone about me?,”_ Draco challenged. The petals fell to the ground again, unmoving. _“It’s okay. You are free from all responsibility. I should have never involved you in the first place.”_

“No!,” Harry called, now openly frustrated with him. “That’s not how it works! You don’t get to decide this alone! I am going to help you because I care about what happens to you, and that doesn’t change just because you have given up!”

“ _Why?,”_ Draco asked.

“What?,” Harry returned, confused at the question.

“ _Why do you care?,”_ Draco elaborated, and before Harry had a chance to think about an answer, he continued: _“The only reason you care is because I am the next person in a long line of people you decided to save, Harry. You cannot take the thought of failing in this one thing everyone expects you to be good at. But that is exactly why you can’t help me. You don’t care for the right reasons!”_

“That’s rubbish!,” Harry called, shaking his head. “You cannot honestly think that! Not after all the time we spent together!”

“ _What am I supposed to believe?!,”_ Draco demanded. _“Tell me, Harry. Why do you care?”_

Harry took a shaky breath, trying to clear his head, but it was a cloudy mess. Why did he care? He recalled the way Draco had healed his hands on the first night after he had arrived here. He recalled the gentle look in his eyes, and his brilliant smile when he was up in the air. He recalled the warmth of his body against his, and his strong arms holding him up above the water surface, protecting him from the dangers underneath. 

The answer came to him like a _Lumos_ spell breaking the darkness, bringing light into the unknown and making him see what had been there all along.

He was not scared when he stepped forward, confidently crossing the distance between him and Draco. He paid no mind to the shards of window and mirror glass flying his way. None of them would hit him anyways.

“ _What are you doing?!,”_ Draco asked, both his voice and face showing fear. Still, he did not move, and when Harry had finally reached him, he kneeled down on the ground in front of him, bringing them on eye level. His fingers were trembling when he reached out to touch Draco’s face, for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold or worries for his own safety. He knew, sure as Voldemort’s death, that the other would not hurt him.

“You want to know why I care?,” Harry asked, his voice gentle but sure. “I care because you are a good person, and you deserve to be happy. I care because I want to be close to you, to make you happy, and to be able to see you smile, because nothing makes me happier than laughing with you. I care because at some point in the last week, or maybe the last couple of years, I fell in love with you, Draco, and I am sorry that it took me so long to see that.”

Draco was staring at him like he had lost his mind, and Harry couldn’t blame him. This was sudden and sounded insane, but Harry knew with all of his heart that it was the truth. He was sure that Hermione had seen it as well, and probably Ayana D'Isigny, too, or maybe even Narcissa Malfoy. And thinking about it, Harry mused, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. From the first day he had met him, Draco Malfoy had influenced his life like no one else. He had always gotten under his skin and evoked strong, passionate feelings - first of hate, and now that they had both grown up and started to get to know each other, it had turned into the opposite.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, drawing his thumb over his fur-coated cheek bone. “I love you, and I am not going to give you up. I will fight for you until the last bloody rose petal has fallen, and even then, I will not give up. Do you hear me?”

Those grey eyes were still staring up at him, now so light with emotion that they almost seemed to sparkle in silver, but maybe that was also due to the tears that had collected there. One slipped the corner of his left eye, and Harry caught it with a fingertip.

When he leaned in, Harry did not see the appearance the curse had given Draco - he only saw his eyes and the person he knew to be underneath. The package didn’t matter to Harry, not now. He only broke their eye contact when he could feel Draco’s breath on his lips, letting his eyelids fall shut and allowing himself to just feel. 

It felt ridiculously right to press his lips against Draco’s - like this had always been meant to happen, and Harry felt the strange urge to laugh at his own stupidity. All these months, he had been wondering what exactly it was that seemed to be missing in his life, and now, he had finally found it in the place he had least expected himself to. 

When he pulled away and opened his eyes, he started. His hand was now cupping bare, unmarked skin, only painted by the tear streaks following down to a well-defined jaw. Draco’s eyes were closed and he was still trembling, though if in cold or from emotion, Harry was unsure. 

“Draco,” Harry whispered, breathless. “You’re… you’re _you_ again!”

At that, Draco finally opened his eyes, staring at him incredulously. His own hands flew up to his face, feeling for the fur that was no longer there. Then he held his palm up in front of his face, gazing as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever encountered. 

“B-but-” Harry stuttered, honestly taken aback. “ _How?!_ ”

“You broke the curse,” Draco muttered in awe, and it was the first time throughout their exchange that his lips actually moved. His voice was back to its normal pitch, lower and softer than before. “You really did it.”

“ _How?!,”_ Harry repeated.

“You love me,” Draco returned, his voice unsteady with emotions. “You really love me!”

“We established that,” Harry agreed impatiently. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Draco shook his head, and finally, he reached out for Harry, too, long fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “That’s what was needed to break the curse. I needed to love someone, and for them to love me in return!”

Harry blinked, just gaping at Draco for a moment, taking in the smile threatening to break out on his lips and the euphoria in those bright eyes. He tried to understand the implication that Draco loved him back, and the fact that the curse was broken and that it was over… 

What ended up coming out of his mouth, though, was something different.

“All I needed to do was to bloody _kiss_ you?!,” he demanded, slightly irritated. “ _Seriously?!”_

“Not exactly,” Draco corrected sheepishly. “You needed to be in love with me while doing it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!,” Harry snapped. “I went through tons of books and spells and portkeyed to France to get information out of the D'Isigny’s… And no one cared to tell me that all that was required was a tiny kiss?!”

“Well…,” Draco murmured, biting his lip. “At least you learned a lot about curse breaking?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Harry groaned.

“Now, now,” Draco protested mildly, not quite able to hide his smile. “That would be quite counterproductive, wouldn’t it, after you went through all that trouble to save me?” When Harry just continued to look murderous, he added: “Remember, you love me. And I love you. Sweetheart.”

The other thing Harry learned thanks to the curse was that Draco Malfoy was very ticklish, and he instantly made good use of that knowledge.

  


“That’s it!,” Harry called smugly as he entered Ron’s office, sinking down on the spare chair. “I officially handed in my last report! No more reports ever again!”

“Lucky you,” Ron groaned, looking up from the file he was working on. “Maybe I should quit, too.”

“Nah, you love the job,” Harry grinned. “It was just me who hated it.”

Ron chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Anything new on the job front yet?,” he asked. 

“No,” Harry smiled, and Ron laughed at his completely carefree attitude.

“Must be nice, being the Savior of the Wizarding World and not having to worry about job security or money,” Ron teased.

“You sound like Draco,” Harry snorted. 

“Well, you obviously like that,” Ron shrugged, rolling his eyes dramatically. “What you see in the ferret is beyond me, though.”

“I would tell you to stop calling him that, but he is still referring to you as ‘the Weasel’, so I guess that’s a lost battle right there,” Harry mused. 

Ron wrinkled his nose, but otherwise ignored the comment.

“Hermione told me to remind you that both of you are invited for dinner on Sunday,” he said instead. “‘ _And if he has to bring Malfoy in a full body bind, so be it._ ’ Her words, not mine, though I would strongly recommend that method. It would give me great joy.”

“Ha ha,” Harry returned drily, but he was smiling. It meant a lot to him that Ron and Hermione were trying to reach out to Draco like this, and while Draco was still highly suspicious and Harry had just barely managed to convince him that his best friends had not sold him out to Rita Skeeter on purpose, he was being polite to their face, and that was a start. “I will make sure we’re there, don’t you worry.”

“Good,” Ron nodded, picking up his quill again. “You’re heading right back to Cornwall?”

“Yeah, Robards told me to pack up early, since it’s my last day,” Harry shrugged, getting to his feet. “You’d think they are glad to be rid of me.”

“You know they are,” Ron snorted. “Finally everyone can go back to ignoring the Malfoys in peace. Or well, everyone but me, that is.”

Harry flashed him a grin and strolled towards the door.

“Tell Hermione I said hello!,” he called over his shoulder.

“Will do. See you on Sunday!”

“See you!”

Harry made a short detour back to his own office, picking up the box with his personal belongings. He took a last look around, expecting a wave of melancholia to wash over him, but no such thing happened. He had spent a lot of time talking to Draco about their respective lives and what was going wrong with them, and one of the consequences he had drawn for himself was that he was not going to be stuck in a job that made him unhappy. 

“ _You are still too busy thinking about what people expect of you,”_ Draco had told him as they had lain in Draco’s bed, gentle fingers brushing through his hair. _“And it suffocates you. If you want to move on from the war, you have to let go, Harry.”_

And he had been right, Harry thought with a smile as he took off towards the nearest fireplace. It was amazing how Draco always managed to put into words what Harry had trouble understanding about himself. He saw things from a different angle, which had caused them to clash more often than not in the past, but now that they had actually started listening, they seemed to compliment each other.

A few people waved at Harry cheerfully on his way out, and just before he turned around the corner towards the fireplaces, he spotted Romilda Vane. She was staring at him from across the corridor, a strange look on her face, but as soon as Harry’s eyes met hers, she flushed a bright scarlet and fled into the nearest elevator. Harry rolled his eyes. Romilda had never apologized for what she had done, not even when word had come out that Harry was actually dating Draco (those particular news, for a change, had originated right from Harry himself, who had chosen to mention it when people had tried badmouthing his boyfriend in front of him), but he was not particularly eager to hear her feebly excuses, either. If he never saw Romilda Vane again it would still be too soon. 

He was humming to himself as he took a handful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

“St. Michael’s, Sitting Room, First Floor,” he called, trying to be as exact as possible. The old castle actually had various rather hidden fireplaces. After Draco had registered it officially to the Ministry once again and had reconnected it to the Floo Network, Harry had more than once found himself arriving in long forgotten corners of the castle and had needed to apparate himself back to the entrance. Usually he liked exploring his new home - it reminded him a little of Hogwarts, with all the secret little corridors and magical peculiarities - but today, he was not in the mood.

When he stepped out of the green flames, the Pendulum Clock was already waiting for him.

“Master Harry,” he called, bowing deeply. “Back so early today?”

“The last day was pretty quiet,” Harry shrugged, dropping off his box on the nearest coffee table. “Where is Draco?”

“The last I heard, Master Draco was out in the gardens reading,” the Clock informed him. “The Tea Set served him an hour ago and came back full of grass stains.”

“I see,” Harry smiled. “I’ll go look for him! Thanks!”

The sun was shining on his face as he made his way up the little hill on which Draco usually lounged when the weather was nice like this. Harry had grown very fond of the gardens of St. Michael’s - it had just enough flowers to remind Harry of mediterranean summer residences (Draco had told him that Septimus Malfoy had had a fable for the French Riviera), but not too many, so they didn’t look stuffed like the flower beds at Privet Drive. 

Draco was lying stretched out on a blanket, bare toes just barely brushing the grass, his head resting on his bent arm as he was focused on some dry-looking book on Egyptian Magic. His white-blond hair almost looked like rays of sun with the light reflecting in them, and it made Harry smile. 

Draco looked up from his book when Harry approached. 

“Look at that, my unemployed boyfriend,” he grinned, setting the book down to smirk at Harry. “I am so proud.”

“Shut it, you prick,” Harry laughed, lowering himself to straddle Draco’s waist. Draco laughed and held up his hands in defeat. 

“Alright, alright, I surrender!,” he called. “No need for violence.”

Harry caught Draco’s hands and pinned them above his head, lacing their fingers together before leaning down to give him a lingering kiss. They had been together for a couple of weeks now, but Harry thought it would take much longer for him to get used to the sensation of kissing Draco. It felt a little like flying - free, euphoric, easy. When he pulled back, he stayed close enough to still feel Draco’s breath on his lips, reluctant to lose the intimacy.

“How was your last day?,” Draco asked, his voice a whisper. 

“Quiet,” Harry shrugged. “I’m just glad it’s over, to be honest.”

“I’m happy for you,” Draco smiled, and Harry pulled back far enough to see the light reflecting in his eyes. “And not only because I will have you to myself until you find a new job.”

“Or until _you_ find one,” Harry pointed out, making Draco roll his eyes. Harry knew that Draco didn’t believe anyone would ever hire him with his criminal record. Harry was less pessimistic about that, but he didn’t think there would be any use in pushing Draco. 

“Any news from your parents?,” Harry asked casually, letting go of Draco’s hands and settling down against his side, resting his cheek on his chest. Draco’s fingers immediately began combing through his hair, making Harry bite down on a smile. For someone who complained so frequently about his unruly hair he was surely touching it a lot. 

“Mother came by this morning,” he replied. “She told me to say hello. Father is still pretending he never had a son, but she thinks he’ll come around with time.”

Harry threw his arm around Draco’s middle and squeezed in comfort. He knew how difficult it had been for Draco to come clean about both his sexuality and his feelings for Harry in front of his parents, but his mother’s support had taken a huge weight off his shoulder’s. Where Harry had needed to quit the job he hated to finally feel free, Draco had needed to own up to who he really was. 

Harry knew they still had a long way ahead, but they were just nineteen, after all. They had time to figure things out. Important was that they had each other to lean on. 

“Oh, by the way,” Draco said suddenly, fingers stilling in his hair. “We got an owl from the Headmistress this morning!”

“Professor McGonagall?,” Harry asked in surprise, digging his chin into Draco’s ribs in an attempt to meet his eyes, making his boyfriend squirm in discomfort. 

“Yes. She is inviting us for tea next Monday. Why is the Headmistress of Hogwarts inviting us for tea, Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, just as clueless. “Maybe she wants to talk the new Quidditch Season.”

“Very funny.”

“I know.”

“I get why she’s inviting you,” Draco murmured, ignoring Harry. “You were in her house, and you are the bloody Boy Who Lived. But why ask me along? It’s not like we’re married or anything.”

“Stop worrying,” Harry grinned. “She won’t expel you or give you detention.”

“I’m gonna give _you_ detention if you don’t stop with the stupid comments.”

“That sounds kind of kinky.”

This made Draco throw his head back and laugh, and Harry enjoyed the way he could feel it rumbling through his body. He also took advantage of his exposed throat by attaching his lips to the pale skin. Draco’s chuckles were cut off by a gasp.

“If you are trying to distract me…,” Draco murmured, his voice strained. 

“... then it’s working?,” Harry completed the sentence, peppering soft kisses up to his earlobe, before gently nibbling on it. Draco’s breath hitched, and his fingers found their way back into Harry’s hair, tightening. 

Harry’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he thought Draco must be hearing it, too. Every bit of physical intimacy with Draco was still so incredibly exciting to him. Despite their rather impulsive decision to move in together, the two of them had not yet taken their relationship to a sexual level. It was not like they didn’t touch - quite in the contrary, as Harry very much enjoyed their long, slow snogging sessions - it was just that, after a first, rather awkward conversation about their respective sexual experiences, they had decided that it would be better to take things slowly. 

While Harry had been in a proper, if not entirely happy, relationship with Ginny, all the experience Draco had ever collected were a couple of fumbling kisses with Pansy in fifth year, an endeavor that had gone very awry very quickly with his realization that he was actually not all that interested in her that way. Her, or any other girl, for that matter. That, combined with the Pureblood Values his parents had bred into him, and the years living under the same roof with the biggest Dark Lord in the History of Magic, had caused his sexual experiences to be very limited, or rather nonexistent. 

Harry saw no reason to rush his boyfriend in that matter - of course, his attraction to him seemed to grow by the hour, but he felt far too protective of him to push him into anything he didn’t feel ready for. So he stuck to the familiar ground between them, and left it to Draco to initiate anything new. And while Draco could be unexpectedly shy, he usually had no reservations to demand anything he wanted.

Harry knew it was only a matter of time, and that Draco Malfoy was worth the wait. 

“Harry,” Draco breathed, and the sound of his name in that voice was enough to make goosebumps break out on Harry’s skin. 

He pulled away enough to be able to crush his lips to Draco’s, taking advantage of the other boy’s startled gasp by sneaking his tongue past those inviting lips. Draco’s arms tightened around his shoulders in response - but their little bubble burst with a loud, plopping sound and the appearance of Minnie next to them on the blanket.

Harry yelled and removed himself from Draco’s body with enough force that he rolled himself off the blanket and onto the grass. He was just able to stop himself from rolling down the hill by digging his fingers into the earth.

“Smooth, Potter,” Draco teased, but his voice was rather breathless.

“Minnie is asking where Harry Potter Sir would like Minnie to put his box from the office,” the elf quirked. 

“Um,” Harry murmured, sitting up and wiping his fingers on his trousers. “I dunno, Minnie. Just put them anywhere. I don’t need them right now.”

Minnie seemed overstrained with that much freedom, so Draco added helpfully: “Just put them in his old room, Minnie.”

“Minnie will, Master,” Minnie nodded, straightening up again. “Minnie was also asked by the Quill to be telling Harry Potter Sir that an owl from Miss Hermione Granger has arrived.”

“Thank you, Minnie,” Harry smiled tentatively. “I’ll read it later.”

“Just put it in the bedroom,” Draco advised, and with a nod, Minnie disappeared again. “You have to start giving her clear orders, Harry, or she will drive herself mad with anxiety!”

“I’ll never get used to having a house-elf,” Harry sighed. 

“Please,” Draco scoffed. “Minnie _worships_ you. As does the rest of the enchanted household, for that matter.”

“She doesn’t worship me,” Harry protested. “She just likes me because I make you happy.”

Draco smiled at that, and the sight made Harry’s heart flutter. 

“That you do,” he agreed. 

There was a short silence in which they just looked at each other, before Draco got to his feet and held out a hand for Harry. Harry took it and let himself be pulled up along with him. 

They walked back to the castle in strangely charged silence. There was something about the set of Draco’s shoulders and how tightly he held Harry’s hand in his that seemed off, though Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

As soon as they opened the door, the Candelabra was hopping towards them, the metal making loud sounds as it collided with the stone floor. 

“The Stove is asking if the Masters would be fine with roasted chicken for dinner,” he asked.

“Yes, fine. Anything is fine, just make it late,” Draco advised sharply, making Harry blink in surprise. “And don’t call for us. We will come when we are ready.”

“Certainly, Master,” the Candelabra replied, bowing deeply. 

Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand tightened a little more before he led them up the stairs. 

“Um,” Harry spoke carefully. “Draco…?,”

Draco ignored him, and when they reached the door to the bedroom, he glared down at the Foot Mat authoritatively.

“No intrusions,” he ordered. “If anyone enters this room without my permission, there’d better be someone dead or another equally urgent matter, or I will find myself someone new to guard my door. Am I being clear?”

“Very, Master,” the Foot Mat said solemnly, and the door swung open, allowing Draco to pull Harry inside.

“So,” Harry tried again when the door fell closed behind him. “What-”

But before he could get the whole sentence out, Draco had backed him up against the closed door and pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry didn’t protest - he had found that to be the better option whenever Draco was commanding like this. And if his determination included driving Harry mad with deep kisses like these, surely there was nothing to protest against, anyways. 

Draco’s kisses were different than usual, though. Much more urgent, and intense in a way that made shivers run through his body and made his blood pound in his ears. His arms found Draco’s waist to pull him closer, close enough that the slender line of Draco’s body pressed against his own. Draco ground his groin against Harry’s, making Harry gasp into his mouth.

“Draco,” he mumbled against his lips. “You-”

“Shut up,” Draco breathed, nibbling on his lower lip. 

“But-”

Draco groaned, pulling away to look at him. The usually pale skin of his cheeks was flushed, and his eyes were wide, always a sign of nerves, as Harry had come to realize over the time he spent with him.

“Don’t make me say it!,” he scolded, a slightly whiny quality to his voice.

“Make you say what?,” Harry asked without thinking. 

Draco gave him an infuriated look that almost reminded Harry of their school days.

“Please tell me you are being oblivious on purpose.”

“No,” Harry replied, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He knew Draco’s temper was something to behold. Better not push it. “It comes naturally to me, actually.”

Draco rolled his eyes before lowering them, avoiding Harry’s gaze. Harry wanted to tell him how adorable he was when he was shy, but he refrained himself. Draco did not react kindly to this particular compliment. 

“Where do you think this is going?,” Draco asked petulantly, gesturing between the two of them. “I bring you to my bedroom and start snogging you. After I ask the staff to not interrupt us. Rack your little brain, Harry, even if it’s hard. Where do things like these usually go?”

It took another moment for Harry to connect the dots, but when he did, he gaped at Draco with big eyes and a stampeding heart. 

“Are you sure?,” he asked, words so rushed that he almost stumbled over them. “Because we can wait. I mean, I can wait. I don’t want you to think I expect you to do this. I mean-”

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco hissed, successfully shutting his babbling boyfriend up. “Believe it or not, but I have wanted this for longer than you have. I am more than sure.”

Harry blushed and fingered the fabric of Draco’s shirt in embarrassment. They had talked about the depth of Draco’s feelings, and how long he had felt this way about Harry. Harry was still not sure when exactly he had fallen for him, but he had to admit that for Draco, it had happened a lot earlier. Harry felt inadequate every time he remembered it - like he should have seen it way sooner, too, but was just too blind to put Draco out of his misery. Oblivious, like Draco kept reminding him. 

“Hey,” his boyfriend whispered, gentle fingers finding their way under Harry’s chin, tilting it up for their eyes to meet. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong, I think.”

Harry shook his head, smiling tentatively. It seemed to give Draco some courage.

“I love you, you prat,” he murmured, the insult almost like a pet name in the way he spoke it. “And I want to be with you. Completely. You are probably the only person in this world that sees me not for my name or my face or my history, but for who I really am, and I don’t want there to be any space left between us. No more walls, no more secrets. I’m yours, Harry.”

Draco let go of his chin to cup Harry’s cheek, and Harry leaned into the touch, smile more sincere now. 

“That was nice,” Harry whispered. “You aren’t total rubbish at mushy emotions, after all.”

Draco snorted, but he was now returning his smile. 

“Comes with the exposure to mushy Gryffindors, I think,” he returned, his voice teasing. 

“I think you’re confusing us with Hufflepuffs,” Harry chuckled.

“Whatever,” Draco snorted. “Let’s go to bed and get it on, shall we?”

“Romantic,” Harry commented, but Draco had already stepped out of his embrace to walk across the room. 

Harry watched him as he pulled the covers loose. Draco stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if unsure what to do next. Trembling fingers went to the buttons of his own shirt, but Harry stepped forward to stop him.

“Let me,” he whispered. Draco gulped and nodded. 

Harry forced his own hands to be steady as he slowly unbuttoned Draco’s plain white shirt. He had to try to seem confident in what he did, he reminded himself. He was more experienced, and Draco got scared easily. He knew his boyfriend looked to him for reassurance, and Harry was determined to give it to him.

With every opened button, more pale skin was revealed, making Harry’s breath catch. He could feel the heat radiating from Draco’s body, and suddenly, the urge to touch him was unbearable. 

When the last button gave away under Harry’s fingers, he let one palm slide over Draco’s flat stomach, feeling the muscles contract under his touch. With his other hand, he parted the open shirt and let it fall away from his chest. Draco shrugged out of it completely, and it hit the floor almost soundlessly. Harry took in the impossibly pale skin exposed to his sight, marveling in its perfection until his eyes got caught on tiny, fine scars scattered over Draco’s chest. They looked like tiny white needles edged into his skin, and with a start, Harry remembered Draco on the floor of Myrtle’s bathroom years ago, his blood mingling with the water spilling from the broken sinks. 

“Those were caused by me,” he muttered, and Draco blinked, looking down as if unsure what Harry was talking about.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I could have killed you,” Harry said slowly, fear gripping around his heart thinking about what his inexpert spell use could have robbed him off. Back then, Draco had been the enemy, but now, Draco was his everything. It was frightening to realize how close he had come to never knowing him the way he did now. “I’m so sorry.”

“The past doesn’t matter, remember?,” Draco whispered. “We’re not starting with apologies now, or we’ll never get more clothes removed.”

Harry gave him a weak smile and traced the scars with his fingertips, making Draco shiver visibly. Harry leaned in for a short, gentle kiss before letting his lips travel down his jaw, neck and collarbone, caressing, nipping, even biting just enough to leave a non-permanent mark on him. Draco’s fingers found their way back into Harry’s hair as he continued his journey down the pale chest, finally falling to his knees to place gentle kisses around his belly button. 

Draco’s eyes were closed, but his face was unusually open under the sensations. Harry’s gaze hung on the slightly parted lips when he started unbuttoning Draco’s trousers. 

Harry tried his best not to feel like a fumbling virgin, but it was difficult when he felt the hard bulge of Draco’s erection against his fingers. This was new territory for him as well. He had never been with a man before, and while he reasoned that he was one himself and he should instinctively know what to do, his nerves were on edge. 

Draco’s trousers fell to the floor with a strange finality, and his eyes took in the black boxer briefs that created a surprisingly aesthetic contrast to Draco’s skin.

“You are gorgeous,” he whispered. 

Draco made a vague sound from the base of his throat and kept his eyes firmly closed. His cheeks were tinted a deep pink. It gave Harry the courage to cup the bulge in Draco’s underwear, eyes drinking in his reactions as Draco gasped and let his hands fall to Harry’s shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“My knees will give away,” Draco warned, his voice strained, and Harry placed a gentle kiss just above the waistband of his briefs. 

“Okay,” Harry nodded, smiling as he removed his hand and sat back on the soles of his shoes, allowing Draco to regain his composure. He watched as his boyfriend took a deep breath and stepped out of the trousers pooled at his feet, kicking off his shoes as if in an afterthought.

It was amusing, seeing Draco disregard his clothes so messily. Usually he was the type to fold everything and put it away neatly, as if it were a compulsion bred into him, which it probably was, knowing Draco’s family. But today, he seemed far too impatient for his good breeding. 

He finally sat on the side of his bed, looking at Harry with a frown.

“You are still dressed,” he pointed out.

“Well noted,” Harry teased. “Do you want to do the honor?”

Draco glowered at him and with a wave of his hand, Harry was stark-naked. He squealed in a rather undignified way, instinctively covering his groin with his hands. Draco grinned and arched an eyebrow, obviously very pleased with himself. 

Most effects of the spell had left Draco after their first kiss, but his magic was still stronger than it used to be, allowing him to use wandless magic. It was hard to control, though, and Draco was working with a specialist from St. Mungo’s twice a week to reign in accidental outbreaks, but Harry was not very concerned about it. After seeing how Draco’s magic had run away with him throughout the curse, this condition seemed almost laughable. 

Well, at least it was if it didn’t unexpectedly divest him of his clothes.

“You were saying?,” Draco asked smoothly.

Harry glared. Draco laughed, only to cut himself off with a startled noise when Harry attacked him, making him fall back onto the bed. He looked up at him with startled eyes as Harry straddled his hips, the only thing separating them now Draco’s rather thin boxer briefs.

“So,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows in an imitation of Draco’s earlier expression. But this time, Draco seemed too distracted to answer. His eyes were roaming Harry’s naked body, and Harry let him, trying not to squirm as the intense gaze of those grey orbs seemed to burn into his skin. He had never been so aware of anyone’s eyes on him before.

Then Draco raised a hand and tentatively placed it on Harry’s chest. Harry watched as the hand traveled downwards, over his stomach and his happy trail, until long, slender fingers circled his erection. Harry gasped, locking eyes with Draco. The grey seemed to have melted under the heat. It looked smooth and shimmering, like liquid metal. It stimulated Harry almost as much as the touch itself. 

Draco took his time touching Harry, exploring as he did so. One hand stroked up and down Harry’s erection in slow motions, experimenting, watching Harry’s face to gauge his reactions, while the other hand traced over other parts of Harry’s body. Harry felt like he was going to come apart under the attention. He was hot all over, and his breathing was going erratic. Draco wasn’t even doing much, and he was already close to the brink. It was almost embarrassing, the power Draco had over him. 

“So,” Harry asked breathlessly. “What do you want to do?”

“I want you inside of me,” Draco blurted out, seemingly without thinking, his eyes still watching his own hand stroke Harry’s erection, but after a moment, he froze, eyes widening. “Oh, by Salazar-”

“It’s okay,” Harry smiled, his heart racing. “Be honest with me. I want this to be good.” Before Draco could collect himself enough to answer, Harry’s fingers covered Draco’s hand, stilling his movements. “But you will have to stop that if you want me to put out.”

Draco nodded shakily, quickly withdrawing his hand. There was a tense silence between them, in which Draco seemed too embarrassed to look at him. 

“You should move further up the bed,” Harry said finally. “Or we’re going to fall off.”

“Right,” Draco agreed, and Harry got off him to allow his partner to crawl towards the middle of the huge double bed. Almost as an afterthought, Draco slipped out of his briefs, throwing them onto the floor to mingle with his other disregarded clothes, before slipping under the blanket. For a split second, Harry was disappointed at his view being obstructed, but then he moved to join Draco underneath.

Draco was staring straight up at the ceiling, and only he met his eyes when Harry cupped his cheek with his hand. Harry bent down to give him a lingering kiss that he felt deep in his bones. Draco relaxed slightly under his ministrations and Harry allowed himself to move closer until their bodies were pressed against each other. Their kiss grew deeper and more intense. Harry let his hand wander underneath the cover of the blanket, his caresses soothing touches to Draco’s tense body, until finally, his fingers found Draco’s erection. 

Draco gasped into Harry’s mouth, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. 

“Oh Merlin,” he moaned. 

Harry’s mind was reeling with the weight of another man’s erection in his hand. Draco was longer than he was, though Harry was probably thicker. Unexpected urges went through him - he wanted to pull the blanket away and look at him, see his own hand move over Draco. He wanted to put his mouth there, find out what Draco tasted like. He wanted to make him come, to see him lose control because of his touch. He wanted to mark him as _his_ , body and soul. 

His erection twitched in interest, so he reluctantly let go of Draco and broke the kiss, afraid of embarrassing himself. 

“Lube?,” Harry whispered.

“Are you a wizard or what?,” Draco returned breathlessly, and when Harry just stared at him in confusion, Draco rolled his eyes and held up his hand. Within the second, a thin vial holding a clear liquid appeared in his hand. He shoved it at Harry. 

Harry opened the vial and let some of the sticky liquid flow into his palm, proceeding to slick his fingers with it. 

“I’ve never done this part before,” Harry reminded Draco, almost casually, but he thought his nerves must have shown in his voice.

“Not on yourself, either?,” Draco asked.

“No,” Harry frowned. “Have you?,” 

Draco’s blush was enough of an answer.

“Just go slowly, and be careful,” Draco advised. “It will only hurt if you rush.”

The last thing Harry wanted was to cause Draco pain, so he took his words to heart. He circled Draco’s hole with teasing fingers until Draco whimpered, and then took a long time to prepare him, first with one finger, then two. Draco’s breathing was wracked and he couldn’t seem to be lying still, alternatively clenching his fingers in the pillow or the sheets and squirming from Harry’s touch, or clawing at Harry and pulling him into messy kisses. Harry couldn’t remember ever having been this aroused before, but he could have continued fingering Draco for hours, anyways - the expression of tension and pleasure on his flushed face was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Harry, please,” Draco begged finally, his voice rough as his fingers tangled in Harry’s sweaty hair, while Harry’s fingers stroked intently over that spot that seemed to drive Draco insane. “Just... please. I can’t.”

Harry figured that, if Draco was at the point of begging rather than threatening, it was time to give in. Regretfully he removed his fingers, placing a soft kiss on Draco’s nose before picking up the vial of lube from where he had dropped it next to the pillow. He had to bite his lip as he slicked his own erection, since even the light touch of his own hand seemed to be enough to tip him over the edge.

“I am not going to last,” Harry breathed. 

“Me neither,” Draco whispered, making Harry smile. 

“How do you want to do this?,” Harry asked finally, catching Draco’s eyes. “I think it’s easier if you are on your knees, -”

“No,” Draco shook his head, fingers finding Harry’s wrist and squeezing lightly, stroking over his pulse point. An innocent touch like this was already enough to make goosebumps break out over his skin. “I want to see your face while you are inside of me.”

Harry bit his tongue to keep from whimpering at those words.

“Okay,” he brought out, his voice tight. “But can you - your legs -”

There was some awkward maneuvering, and Harry had to push the blanket back to the foot of the bed, but finally, they found their position, Harry hovering above Draco, balancing his weight on his elbows, while Draco’s feet were crossed over Harry’s butt. The head of Harry’s erection was sliding over Draco’s entrance, making both of them shudder.

“Are you ready?,” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” Draco hissed, arms tightening around Harry’s torso.

The first push inside almost undid Harry. He slid in easier than he would have expected, in one smooth move, but by Merlin, the heat and the tightness was overwhelming. The moans that slipped his lips were incoherent, and he rested his forehead against Draco’s, desperately gasping for breath. 

“You feel amazing,” Draco whispered, sounding awed. 

Harry was past the point of forming words. His hands slid into Draco’s soft hair, needing something to hold on to as he kissed him deeply, breath and tongues mingling as Harry started to move.

The friction was unlike anything Harry had ever felt. All of Harry’s senses were heightened and stimulated by Draco, and he felt every movement like electricity through his body. His heart, on the other hand, seemed lighter than ever. A feeling of rightness soared through him, braided with euphoria and safety.

This was what he had been looking for. This feeling. This person. 

Draco was reduced to moaned syllables quickly, but occasionally, Harry could hear his name among them in a breathy whimper. It was electrifying. 

Harry was too far gone for there to be any finesse. He just kept thrusting into Draco’s body, his pace growing more erratic as time passed, but it seemed to be enough for Draco. Every once in awhile, he would arch against Harry or cling to him so tightly that Harry had difficulty breathing. 

When Draco came, he pressed his face into Harry’s neck to muffle his noises. He tightened around Harry, and it was the last push to tip Harry over the edge. 

His orgasm was so intense that he blacked out for a few moments. When he came to again, he was resting against Draco’s shoulder, one arm still tight around him, the other hand gently stroking his hair out of his face. 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, making Draco chuckle.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “This was even better than I imagined.”

Harry just nodded, still too fuzzy to be coherent. 

“I’m not going to let you leave me ever again,” Draco suddenly whispered, his voice both possessive and insecure, despite the teasing overtone. “You are a prisoner in this castle, Harry Potter.”

Harry smiled, pressing a sideways kiss to Draco’s collarbone.

“I think I like the sound of that,” he murmured, quite proud of all those words he had managed to string together into a sentence. 

Draco laughed, and the last bit of tension seemed to seep from his body. 

  


“But Master Potter needs to read the letter, Minnie!,” the Quill piped up downstairs at the same time, jumping up and down in front of Minnie and blocking her way. 

“Masters are not wanting to be interrupted,” she told it firmly. “Unless someone is dying.” She looked at the Quill worriedly. “Is someone dying?”

“No,” it sighed. “But Miss Granger has important news for Master Potter! He and Master Draco will be so happy!”

“Has the Quill been reading the letter?,” Minnie gasped, scandalized.

The Quill froze. “Maybe a little,” it admitted. 

“Bad Quill!,” Minnie scolded. “Minnie should be ironing the Quill!”

“No, no, no!,” the Quill protested, jumping out of her reach. “Please don’t. It’s my job! I need to check if the letters are any danger to the Master, after all! And then I just happened to see-”

“Minnie doesn’t want to hear it!,” Minnie squealed, flattening her ears with her palms.

“But the Headmistress of Hogwarts is going to offer them jobs, Minnie!,” the Quill called. “Defence against the Dark Arts for Master Potter and Charms for Master Draco! This is huge! They are finally going to - oh, fine!,” it huffed when Minnie started to sing in a loud, shrill pitch. “Candelabra? Tea Set? Someone listen to me, I have _news_!” 

**Author's Note:**

> I am terribly excited to hear what you think! Please drop me a comment!


End file.
